Wednesday, December 17, 2014

... take heed, take heed of the western wind

It seems that the rains will never stop. Not for very long, anyway. It has rained with hardly any cessation since we all returned from the mountains. It was raining when we arrived, it is raining now.

I hang my towels to dry after a shower and a full day later they are still damp to the touch.

It is not the spring rains that render the world new and afresh. It is oppressive and heavy, too persistent to enjoy as a diversion. It sits atop the heart like an open ocean.

On my return from the city yesterday there had settled entirely new lakes mixed among the fields where before there had only stood cows and grass, down in the valley where the Petaluma river runs dark into the open bay.

That is all there is to report, if this can be called reporting. I will welcome the sun again when I see it, like never before. I will raise my hands and eyes to it in true ecstasy.

I promise, I will.

Oh, how can, how can you ask me again
It only brings me sorrow
The same thing I want from you today
I would want again tomorrow