Wednesday, April 22, 2009

39,000 feet

I woke up to more rain. Since we've finished the taille it seems to have rained every day. It seems such a waste, all the rainy days on days that I had off already. The funny thing is that it was just getting sunny where I was when I flew away.

Montpellier - New York.
A single thirty hour day and everything looks different.

Now when I get up and hear the rain falling it has a different sound. The rain is a much quieter sound here. It's a softer sound. Where I came from the rain hitting the tiled rooves and stone houses makes a smacking sound, you might say a tinging kind of noise in an attempt to be more precise. Here the soft earth and liquid lake soak up the falling rain, leaving only the sound of grey and mist. Even the commuter train across the lake slides silently through the dark morning.

The place du marche has been replaced with the open lake. Blue, grey, budding green just beginning again in replacing the winter black. It's always surprising to see a season step backwards. The forsythia is full yellow bloom but spring is just a bit less along and it makes me feel the fluidity of time. Just a slight cant is enough to put me off balance.

Then there is Good morning, good-bye. How are you? All the little words of the day tumbling out without translation. I was constructed with the language of my birth and now I am resconced in it. Without constraint of willfully forming my words I expand to the point of disappearing.

The place du marche', Indian lake. My people, and none of them too. Strange to be home and away from it too.

1 comment:

  1. the rain like a special link between you in us and a little place of france
    have nice days in your country