9/26/11 — It’s cloudy and spitting rain today in Oregon, a cool and moist reminder of things to come. Some find it depressing, but not me. It’s good writing weather. And besides, even when I venture out for a run or mountain bike ride, what harm can rain do? It’s only water. A quick shower and change of clothes and I’m ready to get back to work, feeling cleansed in more ways than one. As poet William Stafford wrote in his poem, "Whatever Comes":
In the fall, rain of the happy tears returns with its big step over the mountains. Gray sweeps here again, draping trees and buildings. Air floats up the cellar stairs with its fresh face turned toward the open.
The new season means its all right — time is. Sure, those evil things happened in your life, but they’re over. Here comes the rain to forgive, wide as outdoors and so welcoming it doesn’t care whether it knows you.
I’m laughing at the person I was. Who cares how serious my face looks? Now — on the mayor’s hat, on the poor woman at the corner, all over fashionable people — comes the wide gray forgiving rain.