I Love Rain @ MindSay

Only love
Can make it rain
The way the beach
Is kissed by the sea
Only love
Can make it rain
Like the sweat of lovers
Layin' in the fields

Love
Reign o'er me

Love
Reign o'er me
Rain on me
Rain on me

Only love
Can bring the rain
That makes you yearn
To the sky
Only love
Can bring the rain
That falls like tears
From all high
[Love, Reign O'er Me Lyrics on
http://www.lyricsmania.com/]

Love
Reign o'er me
Rain on me
Rain on me

Love
Reign o'er me
Rain on me
Rain on me

On the dry and dusty road
The nights we spent apart alone
I need to get back home
To cool cool rain

I can't sleep and I lay and I think
The night is hot and black as ink
Woo Oh God I need a drink
Of cool cool rain

Love
Reign o'er me
Rain over me
Over me
Over me

Love
Reign o'er me
On me

Love...

You are the rose that's been kissed by the rain
why do you thirst for my puddle of pain
do not forsake the love that you have found
I am only just a ghost in this town

this hidden rain is melting me inside
I love you much more than just saying goodbye
but my heart belongs to the desert sky
and I hate you just enough to make you cry

the more things change, the more things stay the same
the more I change, the more I feel this way
like I'm on a road to nowhere from somewhere strange
and I still believe that something will change

this hidden rain is melting me inside
I love you just enough to make you cry
but my heart belongs to the desert sky
and I hate you much more than just saying goodbye

and I live for the hour he takes you home
for with you he takes the ageless unknown
but I don't think I could take watching you go
'cause I'm wanted dead or alive
and I'm captured as both

this hidden rain is melting me inside
I love you much more than not asking why
but my heart belongs to the desert sky
and I hate you just enough to lay down and die

this scarlet ribbon-tied lock of my hair
will always remind you that once I cared

More of painting the house.

We're borrowing a bit of scaffolding from another family we're friends with (through theater and music), and the kid is doing an awesome job with the first west side (the way our house is built, we kind of have two north sides and two west sides). I've been spending the day on a segment under the deck stairs, which makes me happy because no matter how much I spill, it really doesn't matter.

I have this problem in many situations: The spirit is willing, but the body is klutzy. I love to help, as long as you can put me at some task that can't really be messed up. Usually, these are boring, so nobody else wants to do them. I'm generally so happy to be able to help that it doesn't matter to me. Generally.

Finish that up shortly after lunch, ladder up to the roof. Dad's discussing with me what does and doesn't need to be done up here, I'm running tools back and forth. On one trip, I lose a step and slide down the ladder - not the whole way down, but as I'm already a little nervous around ladders, I feel justified in dryly declaring, "Well, that was exciting."

Dad, who's up on the roof, probably couldn't see it, but you can hear every step on the extension ladders (we have two), and most likely had some other reaction to hearing something go wrong on my way down. "No more exciting, please." Made me laugh.

Later, I'm scraping the old stuff off part of the fascia, kind of humming to myself ("...my lover in the grocery store, and her eyes flew open wiiiide..."). The sky's been kind of spitting now and again since I got home that morning, but now it expresses a little more interest. Quick skip over the roof - I have a hidey spot I like up here from the last time we were doing anything on the roof.

Just over my front door, there's...I guess you could call it a double-overhang. It's an acute angle, but it's wide enough for me to hide out. The shingles are warm under my back, my hair's tucked up under my hat, and I just listen.

Smell my sweat mixing with the body splash I like, smell the rain on the grass and trees, and the unique scent of the shingles. Wrinkle my nose a little at the shingle-scent mixing with the rain - it's like something wet is burning. Listen to the rain hitting leaves, a brief chuckle of thunder, birds complaining or rejoicing about their feathers being soaked, the warble of water running down the gutter over my head that sounds like a nest of fledglings. Watch the colors - it's strange how, when it first starts raining, all the colors get brighter, like it's washing the dust off the world. This makes a little bit of sense in August, but this is May - we're hardly into dust season yet. And then things blur at a distance, and everything seems to be done in overtones of rich, living green. The maple leaves are at first brightening up to this change, but after about twenty minutes hang down in a dejected statement of, "Enough already!"

Smile, and roll back to just listen. Often, I love being out in the rain, but today I'm the kitty, and I was happy in the sun. I'm quite content to stay dry here, and use my other senses to check out the weather.

Incidentally, wet cat is just as bad, if not worse than, wet dog. It just gets far less publicity for some reason.

At some point the wind changes. Rogue makes fun of me for my catlike poses, but even when I do notice that I'm doing them, it's after the fact. In this case, I laugh at myself when I realize how I've drawn away from the rain bouncing off the roof into my dry space. Pull back, almost hiss, and if I could, I'd lay my ears back. I was warm!

Bubbles begin to team up on the small river running down my street. The warbling in the gutter is a rather riotous melody at this point, and a disgruntled grackle sits on the peak of the roof, glaring at me with some unlucky arthropod in his bill. My locust tree's been coming into leaf late, but it's having a fine time in this shower. You can't see the rain falling on the street, but you can see where it bounces off, and to me it looks like nothing so much as a huge party of very tiny beings celebrating at a concert.

The wet (and a wayward wasp) invade further into my space, and I resolve that the next point where it lets up (because of course it's not a steady rain - sometimes it exhales and relaxes a bit), I'm skipping back over the peak and heading down the ladder.

It comes a few minutes later, but as soon as I've made it to the ladder, the rain seems to realize that it has a new target. I must say, I am not fond of climbing ladders, up or down, when they're wet. Come in, shake my hair out from under my hat. Dad says that we'll have to wait an hour after it lets up to get back to painting. Yippee for me - I have other projects I want to get done.

But the rain's still pattering away to itself, experimenting with ringing on the ladder and scaffolding. I like drenching rains better for walking in, but happy rains are good in their own way.

Shake it like a polaroid picture! Savannah out in the rain by the Ol' Lincoln. I love how it looks right out of a vintage album.

I took these last night.


She doesnt look very comfortable just waiting for me to take a picture.


Catching her off gaurd once again while she was wearing the jacket too. I love her look here. Hahaha.


A close up of her hair. Yarn ties and all just like in those clippits of the Blood Hound Gang. Not the band.. ;) *sings*
Whenever there's trouble, we're there on the double.
We're the Bloodhound Gang.

If you've got the crime, we've got the time.
We're the Bloodhound Gang.

(Granted I know it was the early 80's for that show. ;) I also based her outfit on stuff from The Electric Company too.)
I love my shirt/dress she is wearing. The more you look at it the more buggies you see in it. YAY! Gotta love my wild hair in the video!! Haha.



Bwhaha blast from the past and my childhood. I Loved the toad!! *sings along*

Walking through the house - I've been watching a movie with my sister and Dad, but it's come to a slow point. Got up for a snack break - my inner muncher instinct has informed me that there are cookies to be found somewhere in this dwelling.

Wander back through the living room, stop mid-stride and mid-munch. Just looking out the window at the rain. Change course, go out, let the door ssssshlick closed behind me, and just stand on the doorstep, under the overhang. Watching the world around me receive the rain. Listening to the windchime. Eat another Oreo.

I like rain. I love storms, particularly those with a high-passion that turn the world to darkness, and you just want to run through the rain in the long grass at night until you've got nothing left to run on. I love being soaked to the skin and feeling all the dust picked up from life forgotten, long since washed away. But this, this is okay too. The rain's just coming straight down, not particularly heavy. If there is thunder tonight, it won't be the kind that cries and shouts at you or something over the clouds - it'll just be talking to the rain or someone else, and can't quite help that its voice is so loud.

I consider a new impulse for a moment, set my glass down, and with four Oreos in my hand, start down the sidewalk. Take a left at the end. Walking down the street. Rain dances to touch me and run little fingers over me. I'm not sure if I smile - sometimes I just forget to make expressions. But I'm happy.

People tell you that it's the destination that matters, no matter how you get there. People say to live your life as a journey, not to worry about how it ends. People say all kinds of things. I walk alone in the rain. No one's saying anything. I'm happy.

Get to the end of the street. Three Oreos. My shoes are getting wet. This is an interesting contrast - I love being in the rain and being soaked to the skin. I hate having wet shoes once I'm out of the rain. Wet clothes I don't really mind, but wet shoes bother me. But, I'm crossing down into the swamp, and I'm not about to walk through that barefoot.

The stream used to cut through here. Actually, years ago, this was Birchwood - our location for all of our Jungle Book and Sherwood Forest and other adventures. The three of us were desperately disappointed when everything was cleared out for a building development. It's now a very wide basin

It's like walking home - you always remember the way to where you were as a kid, and sometimes you just find your way there without realizing it. In this case, I don't know where I'm going. I don't need to. I'm not sure whether the trip matters, walking in the rain, or if chance or God or my random impulses will put me somewhere I need to be. Maybe there's something I need to see. Maybe there's someone I need to be. Maybe I just need to get wet. I'm okay with that.

Out of the basin, up the hill. Turning right takes me down to a friend's house - I haven't seen her since high school. That hill is long, though, and without a bike, what's the point? I like to go fast down hills. Two Oreos.

Somewhere over the rainclouds, the sun is setting. I wonder what that looks like - seeing a sunset from above a storm. Do the clouds look dark when they're underneath you? Are they still painted, shot with fire and roses? The only effect down here is that it gets darker. I grin. I think - I feel the grin inside me, I just don't know if it made it outside. It's okay - there's no one out here to see me forget to smile.

They're all tucked away inside their split-level suburban homes. It's light in there, and dry, and warm. Usually softer, and the colors are chosen. I can see the flickering of one tv, and a shadow on a couch that I'm guessing is someone my age. There are lights on in the basement. Maybe everyone's home and nobody's talking.

The road changes to gravel. Gravel and mud, by this point. I'm thinking that wearing my Nike Shox for this wasn't such a good plan - they pick up all kinds of dirt in the space inside the heel. Not as though I put any real thought into it, though. Some trips are best started random.

"Where are we going?"
"Oh, I don't know. Thisaway until we run out of island."
-Brunswick and Alex

One Oreo. I've got my choice of an open road to the north, or the rare sight of a grassfield that hasn't been turned into farmland. If I go south, I'll hit the tracks and follow them to Sistertown. Hmmm.

I eat my Oreo and make my choice. Walking with the storm, content in the rain. Maybe I'm humming - sometimes I forget to keep the songs inside my head. Or forget to let them out. Either way, doesn't matter. There's no one to hear me out here.

Oreos all gone. I disappear with the rain over the hills. Just vanish from this world, like that, no further explanation. Really, no further explanation is needed. It's enough just to be me, walking in the rain.

But I did forget my glass of water back on the step.