Rain

I sit in my favorite Maryville coffeehouse, the Board Game Cafe, and watch the rain outside.

I love rain. I love gloomy skies and the hiss of car tires on the pavement. I love gentle rain misting the garden. I love watching gullywashers as the torrent of raindrops sheet across the street. I love the patter of the raindrops on the metal garage roof and the boom of the thunderclaps. I love the feeling of resignation I get when I’m so drenched there’s no use in dodging the raindrops anymore and I love the warmth of the indoors.

Rain reminds us that we don’t have total control of our lives, and that’s a welcome realization to me. We plan, and then we miss something, like what to do when the picnic is rained out, or whether we packed an umbrella in the car. Not only do we not have to be perfect, but we can’t be perfect, because we can’t predict everything.

Like, for example, the rain.

Mood and writing status today …

I need to write on Prodigies today.
I’ve been getting work done in other places — taking the class is most important; editing what my betas are telling me about my books is important (I love fixing problems!); writing this blog is important, gardening is important …

Writing Prodigies is important, So why is this getting none of my attention? Because it’s been difficult getting my mind back into it. Yes, it still bothers me that I haven’t gotten published, and I do lose my motivation to write, especially when there are so many more things I want and need to do.

But I finished my weekly class activities the first week of classes, and I’ve set up 1/3 of my internship visits up. I’ve gotten the basic layout of my renovated class together, and I have to wait till later in the summer to get the rest done. I’m antsy — I don’t want to spend all my spare time vegetating on the couch.

So I’m a bit cranky today. I’m working on it.

Nocturne

The FEMA app on my phone announces that the three-day heat advisory has expired. The air outside hangs heavily. I feel its weight in my chest, as if it has settled in my soul.

Too much time to myself, too much time to think. Too many heavy questions — why does my childhood self walk through my dreams? What does she search for?

I wrote this song twenty years ago. Why does it repeat over and over?
To dance naked in this pool of light
is all the moment requires of me —
eyes closed, as if I were alone
but I know you are there, almost —
almost close enough to feel,
almost close enough to touch;
my hand reaches out to touch your face
and touches air — you are not close enough …

Why do the fleeting moments when we know we’re loved fade and leave us doubting again?
Why have we all been wounded?

When the cold front moves in tonight, it may rain or even hail. Perhaps that will clear the air.