the word for world is rain

one of the most pleasant spots I landed when I was living in my car was outside berryville, arkansas, not far from eureka springs. there was a little would-be commune there in the late 80s centered around yo-anka (she died in 2002 and there is a shelter named for her) and charlie, former lovers who decided they didn't like sleeping together but did like living together. they wanted their renovated barn to be a commune, but with the exception of one other woman, who generally stayed there twice a year, they couldn't entice anyone.

charlie had replaced most of the walls to the first floor with windows and the result was a huge, airy space sort of grouped into several of those types of focused places you see in furniture stores where a stove and refrigerator are grouped around a kitchen island and dressers and chairs centered on a bed. when the sun shone it was a holy place, and when the rains came it was full of the sound of gentle clapping on the eaves.

this is what I'm reminded of on days such as this, when the rim takes on the patina you see in kitsch paintings of paris streets. I pour out some extra coffee and open the windows and doors to let fresh air cleanse the smell of too many dogs and cats and a too cooped-up couple. the world smells rain-luscious and sounds like the canopy of a rainforest and I cannot get enough of this earth.