||[May. 6th, 2017|08:12 pm]
We've been getting some very light sprinkles for the last hour or so. It hasn't been enough to darken the pavement, but the accumulation is dripping from the oak tree next door and spattering the skylights on my back porch. There is a tricking sound coming from one of the downspouts, too. For a few minutes a shaft of sunlight made its way under the cloud cover and lit up the tops of some pine trees east of my house. The chilly air smells of wet foliage. It's all a very pleasant change from the recent heat. |
It isn't going to last long, though. It's supposed to be clear and warm tomorrow, and hot again early next week. The current rain probably won't even be measurable, and is unlikely to do any more for the plants than a decent morning dew would. The feral cats aren't even bothering to take shelter on the porch. One of them has in fact continued to nap on the lawn throughout the event. I myself enjoyed standing on the walkway for a few minutes, feeling the tiny drops on my face, but they didn't even get my hair noticeably damp.
Looking out my southern window I see that the clouds are breaking up, and the last light is turning them pink. They remind me of cotton candy, though their color is not going to get that intense. I can't remember the last time I had cotton candy. It must have been at one of the carnivals they used to have annually on the grounds of my intermediate school.
When I was seventeen I worked for a few hours at the soft drink concession run as a fund raiser for the local Chamber of Commerce. I think that was the last one of the carnivals I went to, and I probably had some cotton candy that year. That was a long time ago. Everyone I saw there is probably either dead or pretty old now.
There are a few fragmentary images of sights and sounds and scents floating through my head, as insubstantial as the clouds now fading from the sky. The lights from the carnival have scattered into the universe, and their photons are now however many light years away. The last sunlight reflecting from this evening's clouds will now follow them. I feel a bit sad knowing that they will never catch up.