A perfect cold, like a perfect storm, is a combination of things, most of them not so good but somewhat fascinating nonetheless. With a perfect cold, the weather should come in a matching outfit, bleary, smeary and not nice at all.
|Only a little blue was left in the sky as I went to feed my own critters. Perfect. I think my own cat and the housesitting cat felt a little sorry for me, cuddling close, which in a perfect cold is a must ingredient.|
|Water spouts formed. Not enough to suck the perfect cold from me, but it was imaginable.|
|Did I mention towering thunderheads? See the lower thunderheads? Then there were these massive monsters. Surely the sky would open up like a whacked melon.|
And now today I can breathe through my nose. The sun is warming my legs. The soup is back in the freezer. And life is good. But I still wish it would rain...
Have a seasonal Saturday. Do something saturating.