955 consecutive (almost) days. Like in a row. Forecast is for rain, and more rain. I can hear it tapping on the gutters and the hood of the car. Wally is sleeping, he looks up out of the corner of his eye, no chance i’m going out in this, no chance. You’re on your own dad.

We’re now 45 days from 1,000, and duty calls. I trudge downstairs out the door, and drive to Cove Island Park.

I’m sitting in the parking lot, car is running, heater blows. Wind gusts up to 44 mph splash buckets of rain against the car, the wipers slapping from side to side struggle to chase it all off the windshield.

I need to find something, anything to record that I was here. You did it. You were here. But, it’s not letting up and there’s no chance I’m going out in this.

I cue up George Winston’s December, and like the magic of the season, it turns the soul to a softer place.

I turn the heat up to 71° F and sit and listen, to the heater blowing, the music, and the wind and rain. Krouse: “Nothing is more comforting than the sound of rain when you’re not in it.”

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