19 April 2013
thoughts on the rain
The rain came down so hard and fast this morning that a river sprang up in the yard.
The water raced down the slight hill from the appropriately-named Hillside Street, past a house that must've been holding its breath in an attempt to remain watertight—and flowed, finally, into a parking lot.
As a sidenote, "raining cats and dogs" is a ridiculous, unhelpful expression, especially if you like cats and dogs. And particularly if you own a dog who refuses to go out in the rain and instead looks at you angrily, as if you summoned this rain to hurt her.
It takes just a few hours of relentless rain to remind us that just underneath the surface of the manicured lawns, the earth is still so wild. We are all still so wild.
This morning, I got half a black down the street on my drive to the gym before I turned around: even exercise is not worth risking the rivers and lakes that weren't there last night. I decided to do sit-ups by the fire and chase the little pug around the apartment; that would be my high-and-dry exercise.
Just an hour or so after my gym attempt, the rain had lightened to more of a gentle crying from the sky. That river in the yard is gone, and if I hadn't had to ford it this morning, pink galoshes carrying me through, I wouldn't believe that it had ever existed. I wouldn't even believe it was a possibility in this town.