“The day is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,
But at every gust the dead leaves fall,
And the day is dark and dreary.“
It was cold and rainy in Berlin today, and as I watched the large tree outside my window sway back and forth in the wind, I became keenly aware of it’s strength, as well as that of the wind’s. Neither one is out to win the battle, today at least, they are just being authentic to their purpose: to push and disturb (wind) and to resist (tree). It is a power struggle and a sensual dance at the same time.
“My life is cold, and dark, and dreary;
It rains, and the wind is never weary;
My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,
But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,
And the days are dark and dreary.“
While this dance takes over the stage, the rain enters the scene as an unwelcome interloper, dragging along the cold. Such days are no place for my tropical soul, as I yearn for sunshine and warmth. The silence of the home is deafening, and my two senior cats are of no use when it comes to entertainment. Don’t get me wrong, they make wonderful companions, except if they are hungry or feel that Ii am not entitled to sleep in.
It was the first time this year that I lay in bed, in a proper bedroom again, and indulged in the sheer luxury of listening to the rain. There is something about snuggling under a blanket and allowing my senses to be complete enraptured by the gentle tapping of the raindrops against the window and the gush of the excess water down the spouts. I should have been happy, thrilled in fact, to have the apartment back to myself for the time-being, but something about the rain just triggered an outpouring of sadness and emotional exhaustion.
“Be still, sad heart! and cease repining;
Behind the clouds is the sun still shining;
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.“
The Rainy Day,
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
FrogDiva Thoughts 