On the absence of cows

It wasn't supposed to rain today. I had a full agenda of things to do and errands to run, including stops at the camera store and the library. After that, I was planning to track down some cows.

The cows in question are not your garden variety moosters. In fact, I've never seen any others like them. They would be perfect photo subjects for the Black Project -- that is, assuming the herd is still where I saw them last.

Alas, it was not to be. Halfway through my to-do list it started to rain. And it was clearly going to be the steady, all-day, buzz-kill variety of rain to boot. This is where I reach the limit of my dedication. I will hunt for cows, but I will not hunt them in the mud.

I did stop at the camera place and used a little bit of my inheritance to buy a tabletop studio, something I've wanted for a while now. (Mom loved toys too. Somewhere out there, I know she's smiling.) I wrestled the box back to the car with only a little water damage and made for the library, my favorite spot in town.

So there I was, arms loaded with newly arrived novels and nonfiction, when the real storm hit. The big plate glass windows shuddered under the onslaught, the roof thundered overhead, the doors shook on their hinges ... obviously, there was nothing for it but to settle into a deep, upholstered chair at the end of the stacks and read. In other words, I had a great excuse to do exactly what I really wanted to do anyway.

I spent the best hour of the whole week there, surrounded by books, lulled by the sound of water, relieved of the need to feel guilty. After all, no one would be expected to go out in weather like that, regardless of how high the laundry pile is.

Actually, the storm may not have lasted a whole hour. I kind of lost track of time. But hey, isn't that what libraries and Saturdays are for?

Soon as I find a spot around here that's relatively free of cat hair, I'll set up the new studio and choose a new subject. That light box is much too small for cows.