25 February 1691, Thursday
The sky is stitched together with storms—a soggy nightmare, Father calls it. It rains, rains, rains, and I watch the gray-black clouds thinking I shall never see sunlight again. I expect to see Noah and his animals float past any time now. Fortunately, we are buffered enough by land and brush that we are saved from the worst of it. Others are not so lucky, and families stand dumbstruck whilst their homes drift away like rafts on the sea. Finally, this afternoon the downpours abated and the roads are passable, mainly, which is good since it allowed Silas and Mary to make the jaunt from the Village.
Silas greeted me warmly, and Mary did the same. Father joined us, which made for a happy little family gathered round my warming hearth—chatting and gossiping—whilst
