Rain

Rainy season is here again.

Adieu summer, hello rain.

Funny how I always talk about the rain time and time again. How this "bed weather" season lightens up my day, which is exactly the opposite of many interpretations there is.

Rain makes me want to curl-up in one corner and read poetry, drink latte and envision myself being the lady in Pablo Neruda’s "In My Sky at Twilight"

In my sky at twilight you are like a cloud
and your form and colour are the way I love them.
You are mine, mine, woman with sweet lips
and in your life my infinite dreams live.

The lamp of my soul dyes your feet,
the sour wine is sweeter on your lips,
oh reaper of my evening song,
how solitary dreams believe you to be mine!

You are mine, mine, I go shouting it to the afternoon's
wind, and the wind hauls on my widowed voice.
Huntress of the depth of my eyes, your plunder
stills your nocturnal regard as though it were water.

You are taken in the net of my music, my love,
and my nets of music are wide as the sky.
My soul is born on the shore of your eyes of mourning.
In your eyes of mourning the land of dreams begin.

Sometimes the rain touches the areas of my heart hardest to reach and brings out the "effusive" side of me. Now I am but a gushing woman pouring her unrestrained and gushy views about the rain. What makes me now? I don't care if I am all mushy inside and out. This mood comes once in what, every rainy season?

I looked at my old CDs and found this classical piece, "Watermark." Then followed by another composition sang by George Michael, "Kissing a Fool." The introduction was smooth and jazzy. Afterwards, I closed my eyes and pinned my ears back to a different tune of an artist's elucidation of the "Rain." The piano was slow at the beginning but as the piece went on it became faster....And then I opened my eyes; I am still in the office. What an idiot.