A Good book and a Storm

I am in the middle of reading Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss. It was a stormy night last night, but not the kind where you want to huddle under your blanket and wish it would settle down so you could sleep. It was the soothing, I love having this moment to myself, kind. I was curled up on the loveseat, a soft breeze blowing through the open window, with the glorious sound of rain falling steadily. Thunder rumbled in a nonthreatening way, and I was completely at ease with an enthralling story. I even paused to write a little bit, which was excellent, as I haven't been doing much of my own writing lately. I have been reading other author's excellent works. Alas, I am in a rut and will stay there until I drag myself out. Anyway, here is a wonderful excerpt from my current read (one of many moments that have moved me in this story so far):

The strings felt strange against my fingers, like reunited friends who have forgotten what they have in common. I played soft and slow, sending notes no farther than the circle of our firelight. Fingers and strings made a careful conversation, as if their dance described the lines of an infatuation.
Then I felt something inside me break and music began to pour out into the quiet. My fingers danced; intricate and quick they spun something gosamer and tremulous into the circle of light our fire had made. The music moved like a leaf twisting as it falls to the ground....