Such a weird evening.
I’m sitting here in complete darkness, save for the 11 candles which are lit all around me. Across the room, a small fake plant in a decorative tin basket sits on a glass top table; the candle in front of it is almost bringing it to life, casting shadows on the wall which give life to the faux greenery and illuminating its leaves gently. The reflections from below give size and shape to the little pieces of decor that I look past each day. The room is alive.
Outside, the steady beat of a mid-July rain shower comes down on the patio roof. Its determined rhythm is all I hear in the humid, thick evening air. No, there’s more: the occasional oversized drop of water plunks down lazily on a terracotta flower pot, and crickets are chirping excitedly. I’m not sure if they’re elated that there’s nary a streetlight to infringe upon their nightly festivities this eve, or whether they’re usually this loud but generally unnoticed by me.
The power is out, and it’s peaceful. The only things I would wish for right now are cooler temperatures and for it to be a Friday night instead of a Thursday.
If it was cooler, I’d build a fire in the fireplace for extra light. With the house nearing 80 and the a/c off, however, I’ll pass on the idea.
I’d sit outside on the patio with wine and a candle in the center of my table so that a glow would delicately wash over the garden, but such a beautiful evening would call for at least two glasses — and it’s a school night, so I’ll pass on that, too.
With so little on my to do list this evening, the only thing left to check off is my thanky of the day.
Tonight I am thankful for a summer storm that has given pause to my night and taught me to not be so eager to speed ahead to Friday. Its raindrops are asking me to listen to them, to appreciate them being too few and far between this year, and its crickets are telling me to take better notice of the little things that the noises of each day normally drown out.