At Home Now (a prose poem)

At home now, here where I live at the lake, it’s raining, that cold rain of autumn leading into winter’s snow. And a rainy day at home is time spent inside, “sweater weather,” staying warm by a fire, a hot cup of coffee, or cocoa, rich and chocolaty, warming my spirits; and a good book, no Nook or Kindle on a rainy day inside, but paper, paper pages thumbed and turned, dog-eared, or chest-pressed in dozing off. A lullaby of rain falls on the roof, beats time on the windows, and the comfort of a fire-warmed room closes my eyelids and raises gentle snoring, snores bred in dozing off on a rainy day spent inside: the slow life of settling into the winter snow approaching.