Ron Arbuckle

I was supposed to drive to the airport tonight. Work trip. But it’s a long drive, and storms are due to roll in later. They’ll probably cancel the flight anyway. It’s not crucial I make the trip out. I’m exhausted, drained. I’ll just teleconference in and call it good. So, I decide to avoid the wet roads.

The temptation to spend time in the greenhouse I recently built, listening to the soft plinking of rain, musical in its intonations, is simply too great. Besides, I hate driving in storms. The white knuckling of the steering wheel. The traction control light flashing orange intermittently as you go twenty miles per hour below the speed limit. The gentle tremor of the car as other drivers, more brash than you, tightly zoom past at your elbow, leaving only room enough for a thin sheet of rain to fall between you.