There is 100% forecast of rain today.
The rumbling echoes of thunder and then come the drops. Slow to begin with and then a heavier, fluvial flow comes, eases off and comes again in spurts, until the rain itself has settled into its own rhythm, its own cadence.
It’s a soft rain today, a rain of peace. I open the small window in the kitchen, and hear the drops landing on the patio and the bedding of green Vinca.
It’s early morning. My favorite Italian roast coffee is sipped slowly as I savor the blend of cream and sweetness against the dark, bitter taste. Rain gives me a soft spot to ponder, to think and feel.
Rain is reading-soulful books that take you in, or inform you, or inspire you.
Rain is music-the cadence of the drops outside the window, the direction and speed of them as they hit the glass panes or ground.
Rain is my invitation to write, to think, to touch the inner life that sometimes has the movement of a great ocean storm or of gentle strokes of rain falling deep into the forest of thick branches and black, dense earthen floor.
I want. I crave a sense of my life that feels lacking. What is this that comes up like water out of sidewalk cracks, bringing the flotsam and small bugs and earthworms? What flushes my soul and the cracks of my longing and desire?
I want more, and yet, as the rain comes, I want nothing but to sit and listen and write. The shadow of the ground, the grey covering the sky brings forth a beauty of the unknown, of the hidden.
Happiness is found between the falling of the soft plopping sound of drops, especially with a lover.
Lying in a bed of rumpled sheets, the chiaroscuro of our bodies intertwined in a half-lit room of darkness. The slow-moving of lips, hands with the gorgeous symphony of rain.
Yet rain must end. Sun must come and dry the tears of the earth away. Just as forecasts change, just as raindrops don’t suspend mid-air, life continues, changes, and then, begins again.
Written Sunday morning during rain @ approximately 9:00 am on the 20th of May.