Before a Rain

It was an afternoon of mixed weather and emotions. Warmer air right before a winter rain; the depression of low, heavy clouds born from the false promise of expectation. I sorted through many old photographs and took a few new ones. I sat at my desk to write, and got up again. I opened all the windows, but soon had to close them against a rush of damp wind. There was a sense of urgent waiting.
At last, the rain did come, and somehow lifted my spirits in its wake. I warmed the chill out of the air with a baked comfort dish of egg noodles and English farmhouse cheese, while listening to The National.
Just before that rain, though, I poured the last of a cheap red table wine I'd used in last night's soup. A wine I can't say has any merit at all other than its place in my life when I took a moment to sit by the window and wish it could be Spring. That is all. There is no need to name the label; it would only bring me scorn. It made me appreciate last night's Carmenere, and it bookmarked this day as one where I expected rain, and hoped for better things to follow. I guess we all do, sometimes.