rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

The Soggy Sunday

The rain has never fully let up since last night, and I never got out of the apartment, except when I went out to see what the commotion was this afternoon when several of the other tenants gathered on the driveway. It turns out a water pipe broke, and the whole complex lost its water for a few hours. I had noticed that pressure was low earlier, but hadn't used the water since then so had no idea it was off. It's back on now, so I can wash the dishes.

It's still expected to be rainy tomorrow, and it's possible I won't get out again. But Tuesday through Thursday the chances of rain are only 20%, so I should be able to get out at least one of those days. There are things I need from the stores, so I hope we have plenty of well-timed dry spells. Being stuck indoors all day today was pretty dull, and I'd rather not have many such days this winter. My brain turns as soggy as the ground. It is nice looking at the reflections of the lights in the pavement, though.

One little pool is situated so that when the raindrops hit it, the water ripples and the angles of the ripples reflect a porch light so that the pool flashes and flickers, fast or slow depending on the number of drops falling. It's rather hypnotic, and as this is a slightly warmer storm than the last one it's not too uncomfortable to stand under the eaves by the front door and watch. Of course I'd rather be watching English people murder one another, which was long my Sunday evening ritual, but I guess I have to take what I can get.

I've also noticed I'm not hearing as many trains at night as I was earlier in the year. I think they must have been trains carrying away various crops that were being harvested then. Now that the harvest is mostly over there is no need for so many trains. I miss hearing them. They livened up this dull place.

Sunday Verse

Lines for Winter

by Mark Strand
(for Ros Krauss)

Tell yourself
as it gets cold and gray falls from the air
that you will go on
walking, hearing
the same tune no matter where
you find yourself—
inside the dome of dark
or under the cracking white
of the moon’s gaze in a valley of snow.
Tonight as it gets cold
tell yourself
what you know which is nothing
but the tune your bones play
as you keep going. And you will be able
for once to lie down under the small fire
of winter stars.
And if it happens that you cannot
go on or turn back
and you find yourself
where you will be at the end,
tell yourself
in that final flowing of cold through your limbs
that you love what you are.

So posting a few hours late, since I lost Internet from letting the battery run down again, and then fell asleep waiting for it to charge. I wonder if I'll be able to get back to sleep tonight, or not until the grey, wet morning noses its way over the horizon? It's all too strange. Can I have a do-over?

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