It’s pouring cold rain here in Ottawa. That’s the forecast for the entire week, however next week on the Tuesday is going to hit 20 degrees, and I couldn’t be more pleased. I’ll have to plan something nice on Tuesday (along with the scheduled brain MRI).
But today is grey and rainy. Cold too. However, that didn’t stop me from bundling up, grabbing my hot water bottle, and going to go sit in my new used car. Zsolt didn’t get that – why just sit in the car? It’s hard to explain. Essentially, I’m trying to get used to it. I want the car to feel like a friend, and we havn’t quite reached that level yet.
Resting in the passenger side of the car, I reclined the chair and tucked the hot water bottle into my coat – zipping it snug against me. Then I relaxed.
Everything was grey, and everything was wet, with streams of water running down the windshield. I found myself staring at my neighbour’s shutters, contemplating their paint choices, until my eyes gave that up and closed. Then it really became interesting.
When it rains in my mind, it’s a uniform dumping of water. But listening as the drops hit the body of the small car, I realized that the rain was performing a sweeping symphony. Not as we’re used to it with an orchestra of violins and drums and horns . . . but with gentle tappings, metallic tings, charging waves, and constant droplets. It didn’t remain the same for more than ten or fifteen seconds before merging into some new, wet texture of noise and pressure against the car.
I lay inside, wrapped in this cold wetness yet untouched by the water, and was grateful for my hot water bottle. (Then again, when am I ever not grateful for that bottle?)
A few more degrees warmer, and maybe the car will become my new place for naps. I find it soothing to rest and listen to the rain. It really has so much to say.