howling

i sit quietly at my dining table, rain is falling and hits the window pane by a fierce wind. early this morning i would have told you about how it was unusually mild and how the snow is disappearing but no, all is different now.  an early fire was needed to cut the chill in the air, slowly i am learning where the drafts are in this big house. i sit at the dining table where moments before in this very place i wrote about  my antique table at length, my most treasured possession. i have accidentally erase it, i guess it's story not ready to be told. the wind is howling,  drops of rain hit all sorts of things  different sounds could be heard all throughout the house.  i am waiting for the library to open, i am waiting for an answer on something big, i am waiting.  i am waiting for the wind to calm and for messages to land. this week i have been uneasy and even lazy, i do not like to be those things.  i have sat by the fire with books of all kinds, from hemingway,  george eliot, to gustave flaubert yet with impatience. i have let hours pass without anything to say or feel. did i tell you the wind is howling and the rain she is bitterly cold....