It started raining today. They say it’s the beginning of the monsoon season. All I know is it hasn’t rained properly for over a month. They say it’s the driest summer ever. It’s only June. They say a lot of things.

I just finished making myself a mug of strong black coffee, turned a Tom Waits CD, brought in a reading lamp to the living room and have set myself up for a Saturday of writing in this rain dulled apartment of mine. When I finish that I’ll probably read.

There is not much to do around here on a rainy day but that doesn’t bother me. I’ve always enjoyed sitting at home watching the rain fall continuously on the windows as it creates a fatigued view of the outside. These big apartment length windows of ours are smudged with rain in different ways. There are either patches speckled with drops like the rain had just started, or there are smears of water oozing down as a single wet globule.

There’s a drain pipe on our verandah which is creating the perfect ambiance with water constantly dripping down through it from the roof, and every so often a rain cooled summer breeze shoots through the apartment. The curtains rise and fall. The traffic continues to whirr and hum past as it drives over the subway works down on the main road below us.

I especially like this on a weekend day, but probably only because it happens on occasional weekends and only for a day at most. If it were different I am unsure how much I would enjoy this. These are my sights and sounds for the day. These and the click-tap-clickity-click of the keys and the bright white monitor’s glow from this five year old computer of mine I’m writing on now.