I woke up to the sticky dampness of rainy spring mornings; Not a soaked up greyish blue one or a wild & aggressive storm. I woke up to a soft greyish white air that sits all over you like a second skin and spreads a hazy mist on the distant trees. I spent almost all of my life in a humid strip of land near the sea. I sometimes think my body can't rest at night unless it's heavily saturated by 95% humidity. Maybe that's why I'm restless & flaky.
Sticky rainy morning also means no lunatics out there with their jack hammers & hedge trimmers & tree saws & lawn mowers from hell drilling their way into my brain. Only the dripping sound of water on the timber deck, a distant bird, the humming of the fridge, the creaking floor boards upstairs where M is walking between shower & wardrobe.
I remember in the house where I spent my teens & 20s, when it rained in late spring & summer, I would drag the outdoor chair under the eaves and sit with my legs extended into the rain. I wonder what I wondered back then.
I opened the bedroom window today & stood right on the edge. The wind blew the rain drops over my chest & arm & legs. Every other moment of looking back at the past may be a helpless guilt-sodden pain but the rain is still untampered.
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