Wednesday

Morning's Rain



I woke in the night to music.  A music I did not recognize and a music I did not think was being played by any mechanical means.  But it was beautiful, this music I was hearing.  I thought if this was some sort of audio hallucination visited upon me that at least it was lovely. These wild thoughts lasted about five or six long seconds before I realized what I was hearing was rain.

The days have been warm and dry, days better suited to the month of May than December.  Days bringing the same merriment and pleasure of that spring month to most of the people I know.  And those I don't know but see out and about in shirt sleeves and shorts smiling and taking their slow and studied ease.  Ours is a college town which makes this altogether possible.  The students are young and mostly fit.  The homeless are few and generally somewhat colorful.  The bureaucrats are well-fed and the police well-armed.  A small and safe American town, right?

Except I have not been especially comfortable.  With each passing blue-skied day my ease has diminished.  In part because I think these days have been created by global warming. I read several days ago that carbon dioxide levels are at an all time high.  They've been rising for years as we blithely go about our business.  The powers that be, turning on their big dime, don't care and I know it.

Politics aside, where they can stay for millenium for all I care, there was the simple fact of the dryness itself.  I just can't bear too much of it.  Or the stillness that comes with it. Little wonder that when I woke to the sound of rain this morning I thought it was music. And it has set me right. My chi, my bodily balance has been restored and I am free to go about the business that I call self.

The morning's good fortune included reading a chapter from Donald Hall's Breakfast Served Any Time All Day. One of the beauties I found there, perfect for this morning, was a portion of a poem by Robert Greeley:


Be for me, like rain,
the getting out
of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
Be wet
with a decent happiness.