“On the fifth day, which was a Sunday, it rained very hard. I like it when it rains hard. It sounds like white noise everywhere, which is like silence but not empty.”
― Mark Haddon
I woke up to rain at 3am.
Rain in Los Angeles, especially waking to it at night, holds the same feelings as snow days did when I was a kid. The hopeful tucking into bed that, maybe in the morning, the ground will be covered in white, that a silence will have come over the neighborhood, that school will be cancelled and we can be cozy and read books and pad around in pajamas all day.
On my morning walk with the dog it came down so hard that my teal, adventuring rain slicker failed to keep my t-shirt dry. I walked without headphones just to listen to the torrent, the splashing and the flooding down, the rushing of water into the sewer drains. A massive puddle over-flowed my hiking boots and drenched my socks. My feet squished in soaked steps on the way home. The dog shook off repeatedly and was generally displeased the whole time.
Work wasn’t cancelled and I didn’t get to read all day, but the change in weather, the dampening of the city, the huge storm clouds rising above the mountains as they moved west, were enough to wrap the day in a different kind of feeling. Especially at this time of year, when I’m pining for autumn and all I get are scorching hot days.
Today was a reprieve.