Waiting for Rain

Waiting for Rain

10/14/2001

It is a fact of life that it rains on Sunday afternoons. While there may be a scientific or meterological explanation for the fact, I prefer to think that it is a cleansing of sorts, after the messiness of fatigue and hurry throghout the whole week and the languid disordered weekend, the rain on Sunday speaks of new beginnings. So I wait for the rain to come. As I was walking back earlier I noted darkness gathering over the industrial areas in the west: rain comes over this city in parts. Moving first to the areas that are dry, the regions that are thristing. But now, two hours later, there is a strange unyielding -it will not rain. Sunlight still filters through the garish green leaves behind me. I hear thunder in the distance. So I wait for the release, firm in my belief that the rain will come. I can smell the coolness of the earth touched by water, soil softened by life. Perhaps it has begun to rain. Perhaps somewhere else, not here in the west. Because the earth is even more thirsty, elsewhere.