It happened when I lived in Seattle too. I got cocky today. Somehow my umbrella found its way out of my bag and even though it has been raining off and on for days, I didn’t take the time to look for it.
It started out as a mist. Even if I had my umbrella with me, I wouldn’t have pulled it out. But an hour later it was a steady down pour.
My wool scarf, jacket and hair were soon sopping.
But I didn’t care.
The rain was warm (as warm as it can be at 50 F) and it tasted like spring.
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Not that I think that anyone would be silly enough to steal my ramblings, but in case you may be thinking about it. . . the very act of my writing this means that I own the copyright. Really. Look it up.
So, please don't plagiarize. It just ain't cool. And what I say just isn't that interesting. Trust me. Most of my friends don't even read this.
That being said, I do subscribe to the T.S. Eliot philosophy of "Immature poets borrow, mature poets steal." There is a difference between Stealing and stealing. . . This is not to say that I am mature. If anything. . . I'm rambling aren't I? That's what I do. I ramble. So, yeah. I'll shut up now.
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March 8th, 2006 at 6:51 pm
mmmmm nothing like the smell of wet wool.