I love rain.

This morning, a golden pool of reflected light is being stitched to the street by silver needles of rain.

At three in the morning the only movement is leaves, golden in the light, falling drenched to the ground, and the rain.

The only light the reflected pool and it's mother, the street lamp. It's quiet, the sound of the freeway nonexistent, the dull roar silent for all too brief a time.

I know because half awake, an hour before the bewitching time, I made my way darkly down the stairs. My bladder, overriding need for sleep, my dreaming mind, and my lazy ass that wanted to stay under the warm blankets.

At least I turned on the bathroom light. I would have screamed if I had stepped on it, in my bare feet in the dark,

GOD! I HATE DOING DEAD RODENT REMOVAL!

So now it's almost 4: AM and I can't go back to sleep. The guilt of killing the little thing, my remorse, having to throw it's little dead body in the garbage, crying for half an hour after... No body told me this was in my job description... crying again now,

What can I say about a day that begins with dead rodent removal?