provenance: unknown

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The rain

It's one of those slow-evolving drizzles, that when first you hear falling on leaves above you think is just the breeze. Too soon to turn back, anyway, you think. Cutting short a short walk would only compound dissatisfactions.

When you do feel drops it means nothing. It's just the wind again, shaking free the wetness of earlier rains. The sky is yet too light a shade of gray; water can't fall from nothing. It was OK, not to wear the rainjacket, OK to wear the sneakers that soaked through in 30 seconds that time you went to meet a girl in the rain and God turned it up to 11 as you were walking back. It's OK, it's not raining, and, besides, you wore a baseball cap, so at least your glasses won't get too wet.

At half way, when turning back means keeping going anyway, ambiguity evaporates: It rains. But you are committed, and it feels good. Some bird is even singing, further up the street; it seems to know 15 different songs, and is practicing, or trying to find the right one for a night like this. The sound carries in the wet air, but both ways; the singer hears your steps on the sand on the pavement and falls silent as you pass.

It's coming down now. The bird distracted you, you realize; you forgot to even think about taking the shorter loop. The shoulder of your wool jacket hardly feels wet, though — Insert skinny joke here, you think.

The headlights of a passing pick-up seem to illuminate twice as much rain before them as you can feel upon you — as if even the raindrops were drawn to dance before a spotlight.

And then, home, wet in the hat and the pants-knees and little else, and content. It was a gift, this rain; it lent this night its soul.

May 9, 2003 1:53 AM

Comments (and TrackBacks)

randomly did a search and this came up... it's beautiful...

Posted by Kat on October 14, 2003 10:35 PM

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