Drip dry

An indecisive rain frustrates. Rain streaks on windows one moment, muffled sunshine the next. You don't know whether to bring the umbrella with you or trade leather coat for raincoat.

You long for enough of a break in the mist to go outside. Do something. Anything. You don't care. You start to resent the rain for striking each item off the huge list of "could dos" you've cultivated.

A rain set in its ways does not give you the chance to hate it. It comes down steady, constant and without question of its intent. Your feet will be damp. The bottoms of your pant legs will be soaked. If you choose to forgo the unbrella, you will be dripping by the time you're halfway through your walk to wherever you need go.

Oddly enough, you don't despise it. That list, all of the things you would be doing or could be doing, disappears without regard. The skies are dark, the leaves in the puddles on the ground are slicker shades of red and orange.

Your options?

Drive over to visit with friends.
Movie.
Mugs of hot cider.
Lamplight, blankets and books.
Keep dry, keep warm.

Which, coincidentally enough, lines up perfectly with everything I plan to do.