Once upon a time there was a woman who went out in the rain – pouring, sideways, punch-you-in-the-face, pissing-it-down rain – and immediately regretted it. She regretted her ballet pump shoes and regretted her flimsy umbrella, though she was thankful for her many-sizes-too-big raincoat which made her look like a walking tent (even if said coat meant all the rain just ran down onto her jeans. At least her top half was dry. Well, all the top half that wasn’t her face. That was very wet).
Anyway, when the woman realised her mistake she figured the best thing she could do was seek shelter in the library.
And the library she found shelter in was noisy.
No sshhhs. No keep quiets. No awkward, stifled coughs. Just lots of people – kids, parents, friends, half-soaked women – exploring and enjoying the library. Not loudly in the grand scheme of things, but loudly in the library scheme of things.
The sound of rain outisde my window early this morning made me happy.
The drips and drops and thousand tiny splashes humming on paving slabs and freshly unfurled leaves made me want to run outside and stay there until my skin became only a half-skin, the rest of it made up of water and sky.
Once I’d got up, once I’d made a cup of tea, once I’d cuddled one cat, two cats, three cats, I stood at the doorway in my pyjamas and listened to the garden echo with rain and birdsong. My toes got wet as they gripped the doorstep. My lungs got clean as they filtered soggy air. My heart got heavy as it realised I wasn’t brave enough to step out into this soaking, squelchy, drowning world because my head had decided it was a silly thing to do.
It was silly. Totally silly. Silly through and through.
It’s natural to want to bask in sunshine, but to want to bask in rain?
That, though, had been the point.
I’ve spent the rest of the day trying to make up for my lack of bravery, but being kitted out with boots and a raincoat kind of takes the magic away.
So tomorrow, I hope it’s raining when I wake up.
If it is, you’ll find me in the garden in my pj’s, clutching a cup of overflowing-diluted-rainy tea, being completely and utterly ridiculous.
Days slowly getting longer. Brave flowers peeping up out of the cool ground. Promising warmth in golden sunshine.
It’s a happy mix of the perks of winter – the cosy evenings in front of the fire, a pair of cold hands kept warm by a mug of hot chocolate, rosy red cheeks from frosty air – whilst knowing that spring and summer, with all their greenness and sunniness and loveliness, are on the way.
A late winter magic.
I try to spend as much time as possible outside at this point in the year, soaking in some much needed sun rays and enjoying all the bursts of bright colour in amongst the greens and browns.
I’m Pippin and I’m a writer based in Dorset, south-west England.
I’m not exactly new to blogging – my craft/vintage blog Pippin Run Wild has been going since October 2012 – but this blog is, so a post to introduce it seemed like a good place to start.
I’ve been writing stories – big, small, made up, and real – ever since I was little. And I’ve loved reading them ever since I can remember too. The latter most probably inspired the former.
I particularly love fairy & folk tales, myths & legends, and ghost stories.
But reading is reading, so you’re also pretty likely to find me reading a food packet from front to back (resolutely ignoring the calorie section), or a newspaper, or a magazine, or an instruction manual (as long as it’s not for something that I’m actually needing instruction on), or… well, just about anything with words really.
This blog is for sharing the things that capture and sometimes come from my imagination (which are things more likely to be of the fairytale/myth/ghost story variety as opposed to the food packet/newspaper/instruction manual kind), and stories from my everyday life too.
My hope is that these things, or at least one or two of them, might capture your imagination too…