waiting for rain

I can hear light rumbles just off in the distance, like a marching band's drum section warming up, each one practicing a different bit. The breeze from the outdoor fan is actually cool and the air feels expectant: hushed, somehow, until the katydids buzz loudly in the nearby tree canopy and the rainbow umbrella holds very still until an errant gust flips its edges, warning of what is to come.

For the moment, I am alone as the kids have disappeared into the house & I know I have to go catch them or find a mess to clean up. But I look up and see about a hundred different shades of green and the sky hit that immanent grey rain place as the breeze begins to rise. The hissing of the leaves in the wind replaces the katydids that have now gone silent and the cat licks his fur, alert and interested, just up from a nap.

Things We Lose

I am terribly sad about the fact that Kate Chopin's house in Cloutierville burned the other day. It's pretty much gutted, and many artifacts were apparently lost. It looks like grad students saved the originals to one of her collected works that was in the house (perhaps someone was studying it?) but the house is really gone. The best story online I found is this one from a local network: here. It's quite a loss, historically. She didn't live there all that long, apparently, but it doesn't matter.

I had always intended to go down there and see it, like when a friend who'd be into it came to visit. But I hadn't made the trek, and now I never will get the chance. Very sad, very sad.