Saturday, March 2, 2013
Play this album. Again, and again, and again.
And if your 5yo daughter won't dance to track 3 with you,
even though she's already in her ballet dress and shoes,
it's all okay. Dance anyway.
Open up a book of poems, like this one. Or short stories, like these.
Rain calls for beautiful writing to dip into, and out of.
Read this blog post, and think about how sometimes
it takes finding out who you're not ... to find out who you are.
Doze, or gaze; ease; lose time.
Rain calls for words with soft 'z' sounds.
Make your all-time favourite cookies, something simple
but with lots of butter. Carry them up to bed with you,
Lace a hot bath with chamomile tea
and imagine you're a spoonful of honey sinking
Open the windows and the doors,
embrace the fact you're going nowhere,
so you let the everywhere in.
Listen to yourself - and if there's melancholy,
or weariness or even the low electric buzz of anticipation,
draw it. Or write it. Or sleep it off.
It's raining anyway.