Box of Rain

Our vacuum cleaner is busted. Thanks, termites (TPAFWM Moment#9).

It's raining all of a sudden here in Hollywoodland. Odd, because I can still see some blue sky struggling through the clouds. I am not used to hearing thunder out here. Back in New England, I used to love to sit with the window slightly open in the guest room at my grandparents' house on a rainy summer day. The breeze would blow the sheer curtains gently around, and there was an indefinable smell in the air, which I was about to attempt to describe, but nothing can really encapsulate it. The grass in the back yard bent down against the storm, deep, deep green and waving with the wind. Birds fluttered around anxiously, looking for somewhere to settle. It was humid as humid could be, and the wind from the storm brought a little bit of cool air through, but most often, the storm would peter out pretty quickly, and the sun would start to shine through the clouds, and it was really beautiful to look down over the back yard and watch the leftover rain drip drip dripping off the late-summer trees. The back yard sloped down to the end of the lot line, which was bordered by pine trees, shrubs, and an old-timey stone wall. As a city kid, it was as close to the country as I got most of the time.

I like the rain. It makes me feel all cozy.

But, much like the summer rains past, this storm too has come and gone in the short time it took me to write this. Just a passing shower.
Back to the many pressing matters to which I must attend. Peace out.