Sweet Rain

It’s the first rainy morning here in a while. In addition to that, I am also staying at Charlie’s shop. The tin-roof acoustics make for the steady surge of a million raindrops, hissing and cheering.  It gets louder and softer to the wind, the imaginary bow and how it lulls and attacks the imaginary sea making spray against it. A thunderous and bold rain comes down and around me is the quiet vastness of the warehouse and it smallens me like a devious night. Hearing Jazz. Hearing Miles Davis, Ascenseur Pour Lechafaud. Hearing Stan Getz, Sweet Rain. Hearing Flamenco guitar. Hearing Chris Connor. Hearing Sade