Heavy overcast and chilly wind all day and finally, an hour after nightfall, a bit of rain. I don't know how long it will last, but surely not long enough to fill the reservoirs sufficiently to disuade the irrigation district from loading our water with chlorine. December and the tap smells of a summer drought. I'd do without sight of sun or moon for a month to rid the water of that odor. I fear it will take far longer than a month, though, and it might not even happen this year. But in the meantime every drop I hear breaking night's chill quiet is welcome.
For the rain and for the restlessness the season is bringing me, more Larkin:
by Philip Larkin
Rain patters on a sea that tilts and sighs. Fast-running floors, collapsing into hollows, Tower suddenly, spray-haired. Contrariwise, A wave drops like a wall: another follows, Wilting and scrambling, tirelessly at play Where there are no ships and no shallows.
Above the sea, the yet more shoreless day, Riddled by wind, trails lit-up galleries: They shift to giant ribbing, sift away.