Day 36: Napping

The wind is incredible today. We live on the edge of the snow line, close enough to the coast to get mostly rain. Rain and blistering winds. The kind that squeal. On a snow day turned rain day, we are camped out on the couch, dozing under a down comforter. My feet are cramped and I wish I could just unscrew my left arm and put it under the coffee table, the way it's trapped between us like a foreign object. Rich's hand is flung over our heads and his legs are twisted all pretzely and stiff. It's the best we've been in days. I mean, we are literally this shelter in a storm. The rain is sometimes sleet and sometimes snow and it's slamming all four walls around us. I'm afraid the glass is going to blow in on us. Outside, trees are bending and if I looked up, I would see the waves sending surf over the rocks and down our street. But trapped inside, closed into each each other and half asleep we are together. We're not flirting or fighting or whispering, in fact we're not talking at all. Flopped in uncomfortable positions, we are together. I can hear the slow thump of his heart against my smooshed ear. This is the good stuff. Today is Day 36 and I know that a nap on the couch next to the man you love, while a storm is raging fifteen feet away is a precious thing. The best ever.