Minnesota Rain

This morning, the steady beat of the rain upon the window panes, the homogenously grey sky hung overhead, the variously hued leaves slick on the ground in their coats of red & yellow & brown. A morning like this calls the sensate to mind, or the phenomena of sense memory. That a sensory acquisition can come already endowed with a kind of emotional heft. That the thought of dew gathering on your leather shoe can conjure something else entire. Or that you can imagine the cold leaves, how they feel in your hands, their crispness gone, their spines supple & malleable, that cold water dripping off quiet & collected. Rain subsumes every sound, in the most wonderful possible way. Twigs break, cars drive past, but everywhere, everywhere that sleepy consistent hum. I have missed rain more than I ever thought possible; Colorado rains fell for minutes & dissipated. New Mexico had its half-hour monsoons in the late summer. Something about the enduring rainstorm, though, I absolutely love. Nothing profound to say of it, nothing particular to do. Mid-move, the country yawning out between us & the San Juans, where rain falls & falls & falls.