The rain keeps falling. Familiar Seattle sound of the patter on roofs. The wind has calmed. Earlier it was whipping, a kind of running-down-the-mountains howl, into the valley where we are. Not a windstorm howl, or even the Wyoming wind howls I remember from days there. But intent and like an agitated conversation.
Dinner at the guest house as we all stumbled through an early evening fog of jetlag. Kudos to Erica for the suggestion.