Written Yesterday
May. 21st, 2006 08:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pecuniumIt's raining, late May and it's raining, not the minor rain we sometimes get in late May, or early June, but rather a steady, semi-heavy rain. Happily it's not the typical rain of Calif., cold and windy. This is rather a "million dollar rain," mid-sized drops and falling soft and straight.
Sadly it's going to be costing people money rather than making it. Webb, the guy who owns the place Maia's boarding the horses cut his hay last week. All of it is dryig in the field, still too wet to bale, now it will mildew. This is the second bad hay year for him. Last year the rain lasted so long the has was practialy straw at mowing.
Right now Maia is as Meeting, and I'm writing on a legal pad at Uptown Espresso. I walked the 1/3rd of a mile in the rain. I'd rather have my cloak (a huge pile of wool, some eight lbs. dry, it's had several adventures, but for most of 20 years it's kept the wind and weather off of me), but it's packed away in a cedar chest in L.A., who knew I'd be looking for protection from the rain. Ah, the joys of moving.
Walking in the rain is a treat. It might be less so if I didn't have a hat, but I do, a stetson-styled fedora. It's like having my own roof. I can hear the patter of the rain and sense the tempo. The rate at which it beads and falls in front of my eye tells me how heavily it's falling.
Spring rain is the best. Rosemary and wisteria, jasmine and grass and all the other scents of the season are lifted, mingled and constrained. On a sunny day the odors are hard to track, each of them drifts and the threads are hard to track. On a rainy day they don't travel so much, I could walk blindfolded and map the garden of the city streets.
The coffee shop is cosy. Usually there is lots of personal space andpeople go outside rather than impinge. Today the chairs are full and one must urn sidewise to pass to an empty one. Newspaper rustles, the girl doing her biology homework (something about Fe regulation in the blood, with little diagrams of kidneys), a conversation about movies (a Hollywood coversation, by people who know movies and The Industry. The sort of thing I would overhear when I was a studio projectionist at Raleigh), the woman doing some sort of work on her laptop, all of them sitting together in the warm of the coffee flavored air, club members in for a warm-up. No one is walking by. It's a small piece of autumn, or even deepest winter people getting out of the weather.
Me, I'm going to walk back to the meetig house.
Sadly it's going to be costing people money rather than making it. Webb, the guy who owns the place Maia's boarding the horses cut his hay last week. All of it is dryig in the field, still too wet to bale, now it will mildew. This is the second bad hay year for him. Last year the rain lasted so long the has was practialy straw at mowing.
Right now Maia is as Meeting, and I'm writing on a legal pad at Uptown Espresso. I walked the 1/3rd of a mile in the rain. I'd rather have my cloak (a huge pile of wool, some eight lbs. dry, it's had several adventures, but for most of 20 years it's kept the wind and weather off of me), but it's packed away in a cedar chest in L.A., who knew I'd be looking for protection from the rain. Ah, the joys of moving.
Walking in the rain is a treat. It might be less so if I didn't have a hat, but I do, a stetson-styled fedora. It's like having my own roof. I can hear the patter of the rain and sense the tempo. The rate at which it beads and falls in front of my eye tells me how heavily it's falling.
Spring rain is the best. Rosemary and wisteria, jasmine and grass and all the other scents of the season are lifted, mingled and constrained. On a sunny day the odors are hard to track, each of them drifts and the threads are hard to track. On a rainy day they don't travel so much, I could walk blindfolded and map the garden of the city streets.
The coffee shop is cosy. Usually there is lots of personal space andpeople go outside rather than impinge. Today the chairs are full and one must urn sidewise to pass to an empty one. Newspaper rustles, the girl doing her biology homework (something about Fe regulation in the blood, with little diagrams of kidneys), a conversation about movies (a Hollywood coversation, by people who know movies and The Industry. The sort of thing I would overhear when I was a studio projectionist at Raleigh), the woman doing some sort of work on her laptop, all of them sitting together in the warm of the coffee flavored air, club members in for a warm-up. No one is walking by. It's a small piece of autumn, or even deepest winter people getting out of the weather.
Me, I'm going to walk back to the meetig house.
