It's the kind of day in which during my daughter's nap polite thunderstorms settle in above my house. No downpour here, no wild lightning and tropical wind-- just a steady hum on rain on the tin window awnings and self-contented thunder rolling around in the clouds like a dog in tall grass. Really, I almost feel it's rude not to open the windows and invite the storm in for tea but who wants to mop up after that? Think of the carpet, after all.
I'll settle for a blanket over my lap, mug at my hand, and my pen dancing across the page in the hushed gray afternoon.