I was outside, here in Seattle, in the gentle drizzle late last night. Rain draped down like sheers against the foggy night sky. The sound of rain is not just one sound, but a muted march of percussionists – the rum pum pum of water across the overhang; the steady tingtingting of the drops landing on the skin of the earth; the beat beat beat heading south in a gutter. It’s possible the first drummer mimicked sounds he heard in his own beating heart. I’m sure he heard the drums of rain.
It’s chilly. Did I mark the onset of Autumn last year? I returned to a diary written on September 14, 2006…Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men
September and it’s raining again in the Northwest. Blessed rain. We haven’t had much of it here this season, believe it or not. Watching the weather is one of my obsessions and my way of marking time perhaps.
Saving old messages on my cell phone that I rarely track back through – it’s another peculiar habit I have. Sure, I get prompted every few weeks to save or delete. My oldest message on my cell dates to September 2005. The message is from my son-in-law on the evening he left for Iraq last year for his first tour.