rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,
rejectomorph
flying_blind

The Damp

Mist gave way to sprinkles (with scattered stars) and sprinkles turned to drizzle (with no stars.) Even with my window open, I can barely hear it, but the soft sound is like grains of sand being dropped on paper. Only slightly louder is the trickle in the rain gutter. The ensemble makes a relaxing music, occasionally and irregularly punctuated by a percussive splat as a pendant drop falls from eave or tree and strikes a camellia leaf or paving stone. Perpetually distracted by this precipitated pianissimo impromptu, I repeatedly wander into woolgathering, and thus the hours fall, vaporous but sweet, leaving me unperturbed at the loss of them. Though I have accomplished nothing, the garden has been watered, and dawn will reveal beaded grass and roses that sparkle even in the gray light of a cloudy day. Not yet winter, and the night has brought the feeling of spring.
Subscribe

  • Reset Fifty, Day Thirteen

    No plumbers again Tuesday, but their absence gave me a chance to take along afternoon and evening nap. Perhaps I misunderstood the message I got…

  • Reset Fifty, Day Twelve

    Monday morning the plumbers did not arrive, and I went back to bed, then was wakened around half past eleven with the news that they were coming…

  • Reset Fifty, Day Eleven

    Do I have to do today? Can't I just go into a nice coma until the end of the week when it gets a bit less hot? I think I Might be as miserable as…

  • Post a new comment

    Error

    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
  • 2 comments