Rain Quintet

The rain has become relentless.


This evening I attended a jazz set; in fact, it is going on right now. A quintet of sounds surrounding me in three dimensions. Light percussion: the delicate yet forceful spray of icy rain pellets pushing against the house with the force of rising and falling winds.  Bass: the immodest syncopated thumping of the rain falling everywhere inside the rain gutter.  On piano: a two chime improv entering from the front porch.  Special guest: tenor bamboo "cluk-clok-clok".  I hear the low whisper of guests in the rush of the rain as it pushes from the gutter and into the grass.  An unidentifiable scat of other sounds in low tones brushes past my ear.  Undecipherably fantastic, I hear it all.  Yet, I crave simple silence. I listen involuntarily to what I don't want to hear.  And again, sleep evades me.

My garden is frosted and wilty.  My mind is dull and dreamy.  I am leaving them both behind, unkempt.  I want to drift away in forgetful sleep under the warmth and weight of my feather blanket, but winter is entering me now.  I am becoming pain all the time.

I can't escape the raw truth outside.  The storm sounds soothe me and hurt me as I am suspended between awe and agony.  Do you ever feel this way too?