Monday

It felt like razor sharp pins were being thrown at me, hitting mostly my face, but relentlessly, at the same time that the wind knocked me and Rosie from one side of the lane to the next. It was not a good day for me to ride Rosie to work.





You gotta be tough, Ed tells me. Someday, you’ll get rained on. So what.
So what? So you can’t see the road, so it’s slippery, so I slow down to a crawl, so I get my face slashed by pellets of cold rain.

On the flip side, maybe it’s good for my face? Like a massage of pristine and pure water from up above? Nah. I bet we have acid rain.

A gray day. A photo from the ride in, as usual -- without any color manipulation:





Ed asks later, at the café, did you get rained on?
Funny guy.

I make soup tonight. First time. (Soup is my winter go-to meal.) With bread and cheese. Eaten on the couch. In case you think that’s too informal, let me assure you, we eat breakfast at the table.