Mid-November Rain

   "The best part about getting covered in crap is when you get to take a shower and clean yourself up."

-   T. Quidd, Shit v. Shinola,   p. 685.  1957, Riner City Posthumous Pranks and Publishing Company, Hogsaw, Georgia.

     Rain, in mid-November, and a wind that pushes the chilled air hard and slippery across your face; a day, the first of its kind this season to say winter will indeed fulfill its harsh promise of cold and damp days that creep inside your socks, of things decaying that snap and crunch beneath my feet as I walk across these fields I sweated in mowing not so very many days ago.  I like it, the smell of oak and cedar burning somewhere nearby; a good fire in someone’s stove where hands and backsides can be warmed with so much joy and satisfaction from standing beside the source of such delightful hot air.  I like the contrast between outside and in; the need to be out there with wet shoes and cold hands is so very persuasive because I have an out; I have a place where I’ll put my hands around a warm earthen mug of hot, sweet tea or chocolate coffee and enjoy each and every hot swallow as I talk about that inimical bleak and bitter day out there, outside.  It makes me happy and I am more than contented to have the inhospitable gift of winter just because it feels so damn rich each time I escape it.