In Which the Author Rambles Unforgivably

I really should be in bed. Having been sick for the past few days, it really isn't a good idea to stay up late; the rational side of me knows that the best way to get well is to get lots of sleep, and that should include being in bed by now. But the rational side of me does not always win out, and in this case, I am sipping hot tea and sitting on the floor of my room at my computer, which sits on a tray, typing for a blog that probably no one else reads.

Why?

How much does it matter if anyone else reads this? Right now I'm just enjoying feeling almost well, savoring the taste of Welsh herbal tea, listening to the sound of much-needed rain pattering down. The sound is soothing, like the tea and the hum of the computer fan. Since I've been sick and at home for two days, I have had time to slow down and notice little details that get lost in the whirl of my life here in Charlottesville.

On Monday I am supposed to share my life story with the other Fellows in the program, and perhaps thinking about what I'm going to say has contributed to my thoughtful mood. Days like today make me want to sit and read poetry. They make me wish I knew how to write poetry, but I haven't the faintest idea where to begin. Alas, if only I had read more poetry, if only I had a better grasp on what it is, what is so compelling about it, what makes it different. Of course, I have had English classes, so I know a little bit about poetry, but I don't think I really know much about it. I want to dive in to its world, to experience its beauty, to take in the flavors and smells the poets tried to capture, the emotions and the reflections....

But I am lost. I have no guide to show me the way. And I'm rambling on. Dear reader, if you stumble upon this post, forgive the ramblings of a tired writer.

Can you hear the rain?