“smells like rain” i said to lovely, my eyes drawn to the skies above as we flew down the road some five miles faster than the posted legal limit.
it’s a holy smell, in my opinion – something that cannot (and should not) be defined in just a simple word.
the rain started shortly after we arrived home. it’s good to be safe and warm near the fur-kids who are both thankful to see us: the young one bouncing off the walls with excitement: “oh boy! someone to play with me!” while the middle-aged cat looks longingly at me to rescue her from the little guy. she’ll curl up under the covers with us in a little bit if i know her: she offers us warmth, we offer her protection from the kitten.
lovely and i spent a good chunk of the evening at a local church in the university district of seattle: opening written requests from prisoners across the country for reading material.
donations come in from around the city, and for a few hours a week, a small band of people gather in an upper room of this church to pick, package, and ship books out to people incarcerated.
it feels good. it’s like sending enlightenment in the mail.
i couldn’t help but get excited when i was able to find just the perfect book for the person who wrote with a specific request. music theory. science fiction. astrology. trade skills. a thesaurus.
now i’m ready to curl up in my bed with a good book and spend a bit of time getting lost in it’s pages. there’s no better way to end a day than with a good book.
kathleen norris once said, “just the knowledge that a good book is waiting one at the end of a long day makes that day happier.”