Morning rain gently plays her rhythmns on your window pane
Giving you no clue of when she plans to change
To bring rain or sunshine
And so you wait to see what she’ll do
Is it sun or rain for you
But it breaks your heart in two
When you find it’s october
And she’s gone...
I thought about these lyrics, which are from an old Stevie Wonder tune, as I walked outside this afternoon. There was the most gentle spring rain falling, a cool gray day that makes you think of lines by Byron and Raymond Chandler and Stevie Wonder and other romantics.
I've written here before about hard, torrential rain. But this was just the tenderest, most unassuming rain - just enough downward vector that it couldn't be called mist or fog, but still it barely existed as it fell to my skin. As if it were ever-so-slightly retarding the pull of gravity, but giving in at the last moment.
I looked around and saw that, just like the hard rain, it was everywhere: a soft amorphous wet body enveloping all the landscape. Ubiquitous and subtle. It bridged earth and sky in the most fluid and graceful way. A liquid whisper.
It was in so many ways the touch of k's mouth to mine.
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