November 7th, 2005



No more than mist and sprinkles manage to soak everything. Gusts of breeze make branches thump the house. Wisps of fog descend and wreath pines in transient shrouds. For hours, the night shows signs of turning fully blustery, but it never succeeds in doing so. The trees continue their slow drip of gathered water, interrupted by the occasional gusts which cause them to shake great, noisy showers, like a pack of big, wet dogs. The air is rich with the scents of damp grass and pine wood, and is surprisingly mild. When gray light begins to reveal the sodden landscape, the rain quickens at last, and drops go dancing across the shiny pavement where the glistening magenta dogwoods are reflected. It's going to be a perfect day.


Dusk began early and lasted for hours. All the extended gloaming, a furious downpour of cool rain fell, making the roof a drum, needling the slick pavement, weighting the pine branches until they drooped and dripped like the shoulders of an exhausted, sweating boxer. Now, the rain applauds itself long after dim day has faded and darkness has concealed the saturated world. This will probably go on all night.

The cat has finally settled down to nap, after being restless for hours because the rain made it impossible for her to go on her usual evening walkabout. She needs kitty rain gear. I could use some rain gear myself. My coat with the hoodie is worn out, and has developed holes in strategic places. I could use a pair of boots, too. Then I could go watch the streams swell. I'll bet they're swelling nicely tonight. If I'm patient, maybe one will come to my street. I wouldn't be surprised. This is the wettest it's been here in ages.