this rain

it's raining this morning. not unusual, you say, you live in seattle, the soggy city, surely you must be used to the rain. but this deluge defies normal seattle precipitation, mocking our mist in its usual sweet kiss of moisture when legs can't run between drops fast enough, this new power to drench residing with each fat drop.

awakening this morning from the scattered dreams that follow a restful night's sleep and beyond, the ones that come when sleep is an indulgence, now, way past the time to get up--this rain thunders on the roof, sheeting off the eaves and blanketing my room in that moody darkness, making the clock seem like a life raft in this otherwise surreal morning of timelessness.

this rain, transforming the trees outside into flames of orange and green and yellow against trunks burnt-blackened by moisture. this rain, cajoling for a morning spent cozily under the covers or next to the fireplace, curled up with a good book until hunger beckons from the kitchen.

choosing my comfy bed over fire this morning, this rain accompanies my absorption into a new book delivered yesterday (with my groceries!); molly wizenberg, of orangette, has written a memoir/cookbook, a homemade life. recipes accompanied by the moments of life, change, beauty, bliss, and heartbreak, all wrapped into one hunger-inducing morsel feast, tempting me, halfway through, to start all over again and just cook my way through the book.

meanwhile, this rain floods itself out, giving way to the soft mist outside of fall in seattle, a morning that calls of breakfast and hot chocolate, laundry and contentment, and, of course, a good book.