Damp

The storm hasn't amounted to much so far— just some sprinkles and and a bit of drizzle now and then, but it's been enough to get the ground damp and make the air smell fresh. I managed to sleep through most of the day, so there might have been some actual rain then, but not enough to seep far into the plastic bag the newspaper came in. The paper was only a bit damp on the end.

Still, it was wet enough to keep Portia from going outside for more than a few minutes. She doesn't like rainy days, and insists on extra lap time as compensation. My hands consequently smell of cat, and I have to keep washing them. In a couple of days it will warm up again, and the cat will go out. I'll go out, too, and pull foxtails out of the ground. Then my hands will smell of weeds. They smell a bit better than cat. They don't purr, though.

Oh, I heard swans early this morning, flying north. It's definitely spring.