Two weeks back I was laying in bed, nursing the little guy to sleep while it was torrentially downpouring outside. It was the kind of downpour that makes you nervous owning a 70+ year old house, because if it is going to spring a leak somewhere (which it did, but we got lucky and it was teeny tiny and we caught it fast), this is the storm that make it happen.
As I lay there, trying not to worry about leaky roofs, I found myself mesmerized by the movement of the rain rolling down the window. The rhythmic pounding of the rain on the metal roof transported me back through memories. But less the visual aspect and more the sensational. The kind of memories we remember only with our body, rather than our minds. The kinds that are filled with smells and sounds and texture instead of images.
As I continued to stare, hypnotized, I couldn't escape the melancholic beauty of the trees off in the distance. The rain soaked windows distorting and blurring their images; adding a layer of mystery and creepiness to it all.
Yet, I found it all comforting and familiar, in that way that a once more remembered childhood memory is...
PS for sake of transparency:
I've been sitting on this one for almost a month now, struggling to find the words to match this moment. Hence the reason I'm an artist and but a writer.