April shower

Reminiscence: Luther Marsh, April 11







Coltsfoot, Tussilago farfara


This house stands bare on the corner with no protection from trees or buildings. Last night the rooms were still hot from sun soaking through the roof. I propped open the office and kitchen windows and let faint breeze tug the stale air. After sitting naked at the computer I went to bed uncovered, sweating on the sheets.

New clothes beg for care. This morning I brought the cotton shirts to my desk, ironed them and hung them in the closet.

Later at the computer I felt a cooling draught sneak across my feet. Traffic hissed at the window crack, announcing that rain had started. Over cargo shorts I donned a bright blue shirt, savouring its fresh caress across shoulders and back. Grabbing my umbrella I ran down to the street. Cars darted like beasts, water streaming from the hairs of their underbellies, tires licking the road. I sucked in the smell of wet pavement.

At the store I bought milk, cream and a loaf of marbled rye.

Halfway home I noticed the rain had stopped, so I dropped the umbrella over my forearm. The first mild spring shower is like falling in love. It leaves one full and longing.