There you are. Words.
It is raining and snowing and carrying on outside. The vinyl windows being tappity tapped over and over. Marbles falling. No. That’s stupid. It sounds like mulch being sprinkled from the roof, beating against cheap windows, as if the whole of my favorite lawn and garden store was occupying itself on a winter holiday night. At me house. They added a bit of whistling wind in the distance, a sound from central casting prop recordings (not stocked at the lawn and garden store), for the sonic depth of Nor’Easter Night. Yet the mulch never gets in and I'm under a blankie, and my K-dog is acting as my armrest and my arm warmer right now, and I found a screen to write on again, so ha ha lawn and garden. Try again some other night. Romance blooms again on my sofa. Words are here.