Graphite and Charcoal

The dog and I walked under the darkening skies tonight. It wasn't raining. It was threatening. To the north, graphite clouds. To the south charcoal clouds. We walked between the two. Wind pushed one set of clouds further north and the other set of clouds further south. Push and pull, a wind that goes in both directions with equal force. There must be some kind of meterological name for such a wind.

And the red raincoat of the dog lead me down the streets flowing with water. The lawns are sponges left in a sink. No one has squeezed them out for awhile. They are wet. They smell. The water runs off of them, pulled by gravity into rivers that gather up twigs and dirt, cigarette butts and old gum. The dog's feet are wet, knee-deep in wet. He is part Spaniel and he loves this. Duck hunting without the ducks. A marsh in his own backyard.

A friend of mine, on cold cold mornings picks up her dog's poo in thick black plastic bags. She secures them tightly with a knot and then holds them in her pockets like handwarmers.

Tonight I needed handwarmers.

But the dog just kept prancing down the street, singing in the rain -- Gene Kelly dressed in black fur. We walked through the wet black rip in heaven waiting to get soaked.

We never did.

And now, in the warmth of the house, the gas fireplace pumping out heat, the rain is coming down in sheets. I can hear it against the roof, I can see it run down the street in waves. The dog sleeps in the heat, sprawled out and twitching. Dreaming of puddles and ducks and the smell that must be followed.

In one way, I am in awe. There is so much water. It's the same awe when I have a cold and I just keep blowing my nose and more and more snot comes out.

Where does it all come from -- this rain, this snot?

But I'm not in awe of the rain anymore. Just like the snot, I'm ready for it to be gone. Just for a little while.

I want to believe there is a sun again.