We’re moving in slow-motion here in Southern California; a day of steady rain has reduced the view of the world out our windshields to a steady rhythm of red brake lights punctuated by wipers unwisely retained through another season. We’re so spoiled by our weather that anything other than sunshine falling from the sky is cause for dark, apocalyptic thoughs. When it rains it rains hard here; between the passing spray and headlights you watch the drops rebounding and redoubling. Standing water litters the streets and warns us off going to the beaches, as our storm systems are always overwhelmed by the slightest hint of moisture.
On our street, athwart a canyon, the gutter trickles merrily with simple sprinkler runoff and car wash suds every weekend, but tonight there’s nothing but the steady drone of water water running skipping water water gurgling cooing water water alluring and beguiling with promises of cool slumber. It’s the character of rain that makes it cosy or cold; we travel home in our metal boxes and rubber galoshes but there’s still the anxiety of un-ordinary weather falling falling into your eyes.
I dream at night of a world under water; I dream of placid paces, languid spaces. My daytime thoughts are soaked with brine and the sea’s air brought close. We live on our watery planet, safely behind our shelters, now dashing out to the water’s edge, now dashing back. We dare the water to claim us as its own; we defy the sky. Drama looms large under beetling clouds. We find ourselves tonight under rain again, shapes blurring through drop lenses, colors indistinct and wan; we fall into a world of water on skin on skin and never attend the borders.