The rains kept going all night. I was sure they would clear out, but the tropical storm that was generating all this kept churning, wherever it is in the ocean, and sending moisture up over us to fall on us. The first recorded rain in Phoenix on June 1 since 1914. That one hundred and eleven years since it rained on this date. And did it rain. By the evening, there were puddles--many of them.
In the middle of the night when I woke, as I often do, I heard the rain outside. It is a vertical rain, the water falling straight from the rooftops onto the pavement. There was little rain on the windows, as there was almost no wind. My rice paper screen stood all night long on the patio, and the books behind it were dry (I thought about this in the middle of the night and got up to check).
As I write this here, the sky is getting light and yet the rain is still falling on the pavement, like the sound of a frying skillet, popping and crackling. It is delicious. It could end at any moment and never return, and this rain will become legendary. Such are the things I savor.
No comments:
Post a Comment