Rain

Today the rain is soft. It starts out with small drops onto the tiles in the garden, creating a pattern that slowly fills in to make them different and darker tiles. Sound is muffled, yet the voices of people who are outdoors seems to be quite clear. The voices of the crows and ravens are always clear.

I stand under a tree, trying to get pictures of rain drops on the plants and the rain makes a sound on the leaves like raindrops on a tent roof. In a way, under the tree is like a tent. The rain does not get through.

As it rains harder, the small puddles finally accumulate on the street. The drops collect on the wire deer proofing fence. Patterns from dripping rooves form on the pathway. The picnic table becomes a mirror for the sky.

Sometimes the rain comes in patches. I'm able to watch as the patch travels over an area and crosses near me, but not on me. The patches on the ocean are like frosted glass. Sometimes, these patches are almost like mist.

The tales and legends that come from this coast are ones that come naturally, created by these magic mists, these almost live emmanations, spectral beings that pass, whispering as they go by. Almost like the description of inspiration where you need to run and catch it before it is gone, I almost feel the need to follow the rain to hear more of what it has to say.

The crows and ravens that inhabit this wet landscape seem to follow me to see what I have to say to them. Even in this rain, they land nearby and roar at me “Mind what I have to say”.

I had a dream, as a young woman, that I was a spirit in search of a form. I looked at many different forms, seeing the pros and cons of each and finally decide on a clam. This is a safe place to be of the world but hidden from some of it. Just as I am about to enter that form, a seagull picks up the clam. It is soaring high and drops it on the stony beach and the clam breaks open. Alas, this is not what I want to be after all. I think that since the seagull can beat the clam (rocks, paper, scissors) I should be a seagull. My strategy for accomplishing this is to find a high place and jump into the gull as it soars by. I find a place with great updrafts and when a gull comes by, I jump at my chance...and miss. I fall, fall, fall into it's shadow. And I became a raven. Or maybe I should write Raven. It showed me who I was or needed to be. I have always taken the Raven as my personal spirit animal. I'm sure that they have not finished showing me which way I must travel next. All I know is that they called to come west this year and are still whispering in my ears. Somehow, it all sounds like the rain.