It’s 7:30, I can’t sleep in any longer. It’s been raining for a few hours. My love for the rain calls me to wake up and be a part of it. The gray clouds bring a comfort. How many worlds have looked up at the clouds sailing around the globe and whispered their secrets, their heartaches, their angers to them? How many rain drops have felt like a baptism, a new start, hope?
The rain shows her softer side this morning, no angry torrents, no spiteful floods.
Water drips off the roof, melodic, soothing. Ideas and images, inspiration and invocation are almost tangible just outside my window this morning.
I make my coffee, praising the night time version of myself that was thoughtful enough to have the coffee ready to go. I use a pink Bialetti stove top espresso maker I bought on a visit to see my sister in Florence. There is a rhythm to my movements in the morning. Turn on coffee, let the dog outside, open all the window blinds, put the milk in the microwave, dog back in, get the paper, make my cappuccino, settle in my office for an hour of solitude.
I’ve opened the window of my office and check the weather forecast in the hopes that the rain will be a companion for a better part of the day. The ducks being fed by a neighbor a few doors down stop their grazing and yell at each other occasionally. When they are finished, they’ll waddle our way and congregate, digest and chat about the night’s gossip and coming day’s activities.
I need to get to my characters, they have been standing in the middle of the Malpensa airport in Milan for a while now. They long to see the daylight and be freed from florescent wanderings. I’m sure there is only so much duty free they can buy. Their journey must continue.
A quick check of the email and amid the business and forwards, a surprising note from an old friend that brings a smile.
The rain must have known it would be needed for the ponderings of the writer this morning.