Tonight, the moon was hidden in gathering clouds, fading to a faint glow, then vanishing in darkness. Now drops of rain are falling, the first since spring. At the end of the block, I hear the sprinkler system of the apple orchard making another rain. The scent extracted from grass and tree and pavement by the first raindrops fills the night and evokes thoughts of distant streets on other nights when I walked rainslick sidewalks through silent city streets, past dark windows of rooms drowned in that sleep which eluded me. Sleep eludes me, still, in this mountain town. It is my lot to be the watcher of the world while others dream. Perhaps the silence is my dreaming, standing in the night with the fresh raindrops on my face.