March, unpredictable. The end of winter, a promise of spring, ...rain. How had I forgotten how much I love the rain? I used to live in places that had rainy seasons, and the rain would come down for days and nights without end. It would go on for weeks. Now, an entire day of rain seems like a gift. It brings back memories, unsolicited impressions of the sounds and smells of rain on earth, rain on tin roofs, rain on sandy beaches, rain on city streets suddenly hushed by the hustle of people rushing to get somewhere, rain seen through the windows of shops, making traffic abstract and beautiful. Running in rain - soaking wet and feeling like a kid again, sleeping with the constant sound of the rain slowly lulling everything in the world into its peaceful reverie. March is nature's workhorse, setting it all up for the ephemeral spring and glitzy summer, but staying in the background like a good rock drummer. I like March, and savor her gift of rain even more now that it comes so rarely, briefly wrapping my world in otherness and introspection.
