The rain continues to tap against the window.  It’s a desolate kind of afternoon.  Many plans were forged that are now being abandoned.  Preparing hot water to make a cup a tea seems like a solid Plan-B.  A Stevie Ray Vaughan song plays on the radio.  The sweet guitar riffs compete with the tapping of raindrops.  I can barely see the tree ten feet from the window.  The grey skies hold no promise of light slipping through.  Stevie Ray cedes to Neil Young and the raindrops appear to dance in unison to the slow riff.  I sit back in my chair and sip on my tea.


That cool grey wetness

permeates the autumn air    

tasty spot of tea                    


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