I sit in my sunroom and listen to the rain. The steady drumming of the rain on the clear roof is soothing and awakening. I am listening as I write one more passing thought. Today is Sunday and she who sleeps is still sleeping. Bianca and her pet beasts are scheduled to arrive. Karen and Bianca are good for each other. Bianca needs counseling and Karen needs awakening. I however want to be left alone to play. I listen to the rain as its tempo increases, a storm may be coming. My body awakens to the coming storm. My skin tingles and my hairs stand to attention. I am awake. I should be writing the pomegranate seed. I have reached a difficult transition point. I should read the last sentence and write the next, but all I just want is to listen to the rain. I am sixty-three now and if I cannot do what I want now? then when? I will listen to the rain…