Listen. You can hear everything. Just listen.
I came home and it was raining. Dull rain in twilight, fell everywhere in grey sheets. My house is surrounded by fields and hills and a stream. The cars on the road over the field were silent. Either the rain soaked up their engines, or there weren’t any. I put the chickens to bed.
I lay on my bd on the third floor and watched the light turn from grey-blue to rich violet. When the violet began to fade I stood up and turned off my lamp. Five o’clock and I hadn’t had breakfast, not good for a diabetic boy. I went downstairs and made toast. Also made coffee but didn’t drink it (I don’t drink coffee). I walk upstairs and sit next to the computer. I can still see the outside world. It is darker now. Inky turned to jet. I can also see the fields, a little, in the dark. They are black and in the meadow a man is cutting a tree by the river. I can see it falling down, can see all the branches twisting and breaking as it falls into the river. Too long so it hits the other side. It can’t fall in. But the next time it rains the water will carry it away. It will float out to the ocean and become another smooth piece of driftwood in another land, and finally, nothing.
The rain stops but it still falls. It’s dripping from the gutters and the eaves and landing on the gravel. I know because when I went to the kitchen I heard it. I can’t hear it now, not up here. But if I stop typing, I know I will.
.