The
long and tedious Summer is over. It is Autumn, the
season I prefer. The bright sunlight, the searing
colors that hurt my eyes and the contrasting shadows,
discouragingly dark, have given way to the subtle
hints of colors against grey skies or muted by fog.
The foliage crafts a quilted blanket across the
landscape and it is raining. Rain is my favorite
weather.
When I was younger and there was time, I used to go
for long walks in the rain. My wardrobe gave evidence
of this preference. There was always a raincoat at
the ready, a choice of several fedoras, and shoes or
boots of leather that had been waterproofed.
My first wife, Matsui-san, remembered the green
trench coat at the beginning of our relationship.
When we separated, as a parting gift she hit me over
the head on a sidewalk in Greenwich Village with a
box from Barney's. It was a new trench coat, a
beautiful Burberry with a subtle green hue. In the
Spring of 1983, I wore it to Japan, visiting
Matsui-san and bringing the divorce papers for her to
sign. It rained nearly the entire time I was there,
which was good for me. I went about the streets and
temples of Tokyo and rarely met with crowds.
I am partial to long drives in the rain. While
motorcycles and rain-suits are a thing of my past,
today my choice in cars reflects my passion for the
rain just as do certain items in my closet. The cars
I've bought are those with front-wheel drive, for
which I select good rain tires. To go into a storm,
to meander along the narrow roads of Bucks County
overhung with limbs, to witness the mad dance of
branches, of leaves, all without departing the
comfort of my car, particularly at night, must be
something like the thrill scientists enjoy when they
explore the ocean depths in their submersibles. There
is a particular fond memory for Ms Keogh, my present
and last wife, and myself, when we parked on a
hillside at Tyler State Park in our '87 Acura Legend
sedan. We climbed into the back seats and snuggled
while watching the panorama of a storm's advance
across the valley until it eventually engulfed the
car.
We once drove that wonderful car through floodwaters,
thinking we were safe because the water only came up
to our bumper, but the current was so strong, it
climbed over the hood and rushed against the
windshield. Water came pouring through the air vents
into the cabin, yet we got through and laughed with
relief and admiration for the car.
It is not necessary for me to walk or drive through
rain in order to appreciate it. My spirit is
mollified merely by listening to the tattooing of
rain on the roof, on leaves, on the brick patio
leading to our front door. It is a sound that
engenders a pensive mood, a state of mind I enjoy
cultivating. I take a measure of delight in
contemplation over coffee, from a place where I can
watch the rain through a window or from beneath an
awning. It is very soothing having the window opened
to hear the soporific rain and allow it to lull me to
sleep as when I might lay naked on clean sheets in
the afternoon – but that was in Summer. Even
during these colder days of Autumn, when it rains, Ms
Keogh will open the window a crack to let in the
sound of the rain, and we listen while we snuggle
beneath the blanket. |