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June 13, 2006
Sitting on the terrace, serenaded by our resident blackbird, a glass of wine in hand and “The Unbearable Lightness of Being” beside me, I wonder whether these few drops are rain are going to be enough to send me scurrying inside or whether they are infrequent enough not to be an issue? And the more that I write, the more apparent it becomes to me, as the ink on the page begins to smudge and bleed, that the rain will in all probability win the day, which is fine. At least I won’t need to water the plants this evening.