All day long, rain. We curl in warm puddles of ginger fur, wrapped around each other in the bang, clatter crash as the house begins again to take shape. It rocks in a sea of rain. And this is not like summer rain, but dark and cold and heavy.
Across the sea we dream of a sea dog, pirate and adventures.
And still we curl like ginger flames of fire and wait. For the house to be finished. For the builders to be gone. For peace.