The dying grass is dusted with a thin layer of melting snow. The trees shiver naked in the wind. A large pine, the only sign of life in sight, obstructs most of the view from my seat at the window. A scrawny, panting mutt jogs past, wagging his tail merrily , as if it were summer. The bright pink siding of the house next door is the only oasis of color in this desert of drab. The grey clouds high above slowly forge into one large, dark mass , foreshadowing a storm. It gets darker and darker, and any sunlight is now blotted out. The wind knocks at my window, as if begging to come into the warmth of my bedroom. Rain begins to fall in a pitter patter pattern on the roof. Gusts of wind catch larger drops of moisture within their folds and hurl them at my window, where they hit with a resounding splat. The rain turns to hail, which falls on the roof with a series of taps and raps, then quickly dissolves into nothing. It sounds as if a large salt shaker is being emptied on the house.

The storm outside gives me a chill, even though the room is warm. The hypnotic rhythm of the descending hail is mesmerizing. I feel as if invisible hands massage and soothe my brain, causing me to forget all my problems and ailments. I lay my head down on a spring-scented pillow and no longer smell the musty curtains, or dusty sill. I only wish to drift off to sleep, and I can no longer resist. Sleep envelopes me like a blanket of reassurance. n