cold rain

This light cold rain makes me ache to sit on the porch all day writing.The rain and the quality of the light make me think of this window seat that I had when I was living on the third floor of the Lowenstein-Long house.It was this massive room with dormers,and a little window seat in am alcove.I would sit and write songs and play guitar all day in there when it was raining.I would keep the window open no matter how cold it got and wrap up in blankets.I considered it a boon that my hands were so cold that I couldn't feel my fingers aching from playing too long.I wish I could remember all the songs that I wrote.I would meet so many people in such a short time.Sometimes I would have these deep intense friendships with people that would last only a few days.My songs were always heavily influenced by the stories that they brought from all over the world.These were my early days living at the youth hostel,so I was still incredibly interested in the people who came to stay,before most of them started to blur together after I moved into my apartment over the men 's dorm.I was still on the bed and breakfast floor and felt like I was on sabbatical.I painted in the attic for a lunatic at night and spent my days that winter curled up in that little alcove playing music and dreaming.My lunatic boss would have these little soirees every night to have the hostelers drink and revel in the attic while I was painting.He liked to think of me as his minstrel or something,and would call on me to play a song for the guests.It was a very surreal existance for a while there.

On days like today,though,I miss it all.It's been fifteen years past....a good safe distance.