Their smell, though, coaxed loose by the precise and insistent raindrops, seems stronger and sweeter than on a bright day. Beyond the familiar peppery scent, something in them admits finally to being flowers.
There's a good cedary smell tonight, too, like a new fence, a young smell maybe also lifted up out of old wood and stain by the water's alchemy.
A fat black-and-white cat surges like a storm cloud into a foggy window, as if responding to me, but not looking at me.
There is a hole worn right through the concrete here, near the new sidewalk, showing through to the storm sewer like a wound.
This was a long day, and not a happy one, but these small witnessings are more than compensation; they are a clear rain that drives the ugly fragments into the gutter, down the drain, out into the great night-soaked ocean.
Though sometime I may have to retrieve and make sense of them, right now I am just grateful for a small clear space.