I woke to roaring wind. It sounded like the howl of the damned.
“What is going on out there,” I muttered as I dropped to the floor. The howling continued. My wind chime had clanged all night.
I dressed and walked out on the porch. Before I went to bed last night, the stars shined brightly. This morning, I looked up and heavy clouds blocked the stars. Darkened silhouettes of trees bobbed and weaved. They whipped with the same ferociousness my father’s 1st Cavalry flag furled and unfurled.
Again, the wind howled. My mind drifted to a phrase that appeared over and over in Slaughterhouse Five.
“So, it goes.“
Anyway, good morning. The weather forecast has predicted a heavy day of rain. I don’t mind getting wet, besides springtime is right around the corner. Soon, everything will turn green, the heat will rise, and the humidity will make me regret every wishing for ‘better weather.’
“So, it goes.”
Coffee in hand, I prepare to continue the editing of The Rainy Ripper. Just as soon as I give Chunk his belly rub, feed him a snack or two, and manage to shake off the night’s sleep.