It feels like someone pulled a heavy, down comforter over the island. Underneath, it's cozy and close. A perfect day to stay inside and read. Steady rain thrums a calming tune outside my open window. Winds whisper, sometimes gathering enough speed to make the palm fronds shudder. This is the tail end of Felicia. It feels like she is holding her breath. That at any moment, she will throw a tantrum and unleash buckets of rain and winds that sting like the tip of a whip. And, yet, she doesn't. It is a good day to be still. To meditate, perhaps. To paint. Alas, to write.