I'm sitting in the Little Room. There is a couch in it, and Tony Little's Gazelle Freestyle glider (bequeathed to me by Former-Roommate-Sarah and used about four times since then). There are a TV and VCR perched on an old-fashioned school desk, and some hand-weights next to them. There is a bookshelf. Also, there are two windows.
Apart from when I was running errands this morning and actually getting a little rained on, I have been sitting indoors, feeling cozy and autumnal and listening to the rain pelt down. It's not a bad feeling, but I guess the weather would not have typically been described as pleasant. After lunch I settled down here in the Little Room to read and talk to my parents on the phone and work on this novel I'm trying to write.
But a moment ago I looked up and realised that the sun has come out, just before going down, and it is absolutely stunning outside. Late afternoon autumnal lighting is so enthralling to me that I feel I should almost be able to hear it, smell it, taste it. That same lighting translated through the last golden remains of leaves, and through still-pendulous water-droplets on grass and pine needles, is enough to take my breath away. I'd run upstairs for the camera, but I don't think it would do it justice, and it would probably take just enough time that the angle of the light would be off by the time I got back down here. But I did want to tell you about it.