Rain

Twelve degrees at 10am as I dawdled my way towards a capucchino and a brioche. Raining. Steadily but not spitefully. And the fire salamanders are in love, and are copulating among the fallen leaves.

I love the autumn rain in Carmine. I love to walk out under the woodland canopy, to hear the rain on the leaves above me, to smell the rain in the soil under me. And not be wet. And not be cold. 

I love the mist that drifts in with the rain. I love the way it caresses the treetops and sometimes shrouds Carmine completely, arranging itself over the stone rooftops like the soul of a woman in love reaching out and enveloping the form of her beloved.

I love my wood fire, a single light, a wine-dark glass winking at me, a sofa, a book and the sound of the rain dripping from the ancient eaves. 

And silence.