when you get up in the morning, you get dressed, i imagine. or perhaps you get undressed from your nightgown and then shower and so forth. either way, at some point during the morning, you’re undressed. and, thus, you get redressed again. this is a certainty.
as certainties go, being dressed while writing isn’t one of them. but i’m dressed. and for the weather. the weather, i’d say, is just about perfect. or – at least – perfect for how i am dressed. isn’t that the dream? the lyrics to the song in my head almost every day of my life?
“i’m going where the weather suits my clothes”
and i am, i suppose. i certainly was. and now, considering i have more hats than shirts, i just hope it doesn’t rain on me. for, i am currently without a raincoat.
i hope whomever has my things somewhere is somewhere where my things aught to be. and i hope you’re handling my guitar with the touch of a gentle giant. and i hope my clothes fit you or someone you know. or i hope it was all donated to a worthy cause.
at the very least, that coin should be in your pocket. it was always in mine.