When it’s raining I get good at things like cooking carrots. Carmelized on the outside but with an inside that still has some tooth. In this type of wheather you have to find your way into the body. The head just will not endure it. I try picturing my hands. When my eyes are closed, and my hands are empty, how do I still know my hands exist? This sometimes works.
A river runs down through our town on its way to the ocean. A whole lot of chi that doesn’t stick around for us. It doesn’t think our town is a good place to pool and linger. That’s okay. We all have river views here. We’re happy with the views when the fog let’s them through.
We could not have been designed to go so long without sun. I say we all agree to shut the town down on cloudless days. Let’s all get good at playing in the sun. When you can’t find a shop to spend a dollar the sun must be out in our town.
That’s how it will be someday! Now though, you must find a cast iron and season it well with wintered over vegetables, the last remnants of a short summer so long ago. You’ll make yourself the finest chef, or the saddest artist, or the most prolific writer with all too much to say and plenty of time to say it. Either way you’ll get really good at something and it’s all thanks to the rain.