Reflections on Rain

26 May 2007

Rain. Regular afternoon rain…
Hot torrid, waterfalls that plaster shirt to skin. Hot, wet, cool and liberating. The earth - the dirt and muck, the slime and smokey garbage that children play in and die upon – it floats up in the air, circles like vultures and is charged, like electricity begetting lightning, earth mingling with humid sweaty air, condensing, charging, swirling up like the end of washing up going down the kitchen sink drain upside down into the heavens. Then KABOOM, with a explosive nuke of thunder, down down down down down it comes, returning to the earth, reformed, cleansed and cleansing.

Lots of rain. Sheets of it. Bouncing off the tin roofs, flooding in the streets, swirling in the gutters, driving into your face.

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Floating. Ears submerged. Deaf. Detached from the world. Nothing but the aquamarine sky and pastel sirrus clouds, broken occasionally by a the frond of a palm tree hanging over the pool. Cool, cool waters embrace me.

This world is a Wonderland and I am Alice. Does Dorothy really want to click the heels of her ruby slippers and return to Oz?