Of course

There's something about the sound of rain hitting a window pane that just soothes me. Not that I'm particularly keyed up at any time, but that sound of splashing and patter and drenching, just makes me want to sleep. If I had my way, it would rain every night, then dry up by the morning. The sun in the morning would be bright, warm, the kind of light you imagine hitting a town square in a small town in France as you sit on a cafe patio, sipping coffee and nothing-watching. Nothing-watching is what I shall from this point on call watching places where you would normally people-watch, except that there are no people there. It's like that town square. A little later, it'll be filled with tourists and locals trying to bilk the tourists. Before that happens, there's nobody milling about. All that's there are the buildings and the light. Light that's bright enough to warm the bones, but mild enough to avoid starting a sweat. By midday the light should wane somewhat. No more direct sun should be coming down. Still bright, just not. Late afternoon, it should feel like it's going to rain. The crispness and chill in the air that tells you that a thunderstorm is on the way. The kind of air that you suck in a lungful of, and feel it clearing the pain and soreness and tension and weariness in your head. For that one moment when that air first enters you, your problems disappear. Oh, they'll be back in the next breath, but for a single glorious second, you feel refreshed. What more can a man ask for? Especially one who feels so keenly the weight of being so aware of himself? The evening should not be warm. Not cold either, of course. What I want is an evening that has a clear sky, stars glittering like the diamonds they must be. The temperature is on a fine knife edge. Warm enough that no curses are issued, but cool enough to warrant an arm drawing a shoulder in. Late night is fine for that thunderstorm, after I'm off to bed, of course.