I am sitting in my space. Peter Gabriel is playing on You Tube - Red Rain. I'm watching the rain as it falls and washes the many cars in the lot behind my building. Just a soft and steady shower for now, but thunder storms are a good possibility.
I have a love/hate relationship with thunder storms. They still frighten me. The sudden crashes and deep rumbles seem to vibrate my very core and ignite in me a sense of impending doom. I guess this is true of any deep rumbling. It rushes back that sensation of panic which I felt in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. Angels bowling. That was my father's explanation for thunder. A whimsical thought for such a dreadful feeling.
Rain comforts and inspires me. It draws scent and color out of every element within its reach. It warms the air just enough to entice me out into it. Breath it in. The sky shifts and swirls, contrasting the ominous with silver streaks. And then, randomly, it opens up in brilliant displays as if the clouds could not tame their own divinity. And then, at intermission, drops cling to bony branches and glimmer. Fleeting diamonds.
Rain gives these four walls a purpose. Protect me. Keep me warm. Preserve my treasures. It decorates my windows and entertains. It seems to make music flow deeper and truer. It pulls poetry from me and gives me permission to expose my insides. My very basic, raw, human core.