Weave me tomorrow

After a glorious June weekend it rained the night before last. I finally had to close the outer door, not against the rain that was falling only onto the cement slab floor of the entry, but to stop my foolish dog from going outside whenever she was almost dry, to fetch yet another stick to fill the close to overflowing box in my living room. It is her toy chest, filled with wood, while her real toys, be they hers or left by soon-to-return visitors, lie outside in the rain. At least they get soft

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