It's raining in Seattle.
Not the soft, damp shroud that usually embraces the city--but wet, rolling, indeterminate rain. It started early this morning. It seems as if it has no intention of stopping.
I'm not accustomed to this kind of rain--the kind that you imagine would make you feel lonely, for the sheer, heavy insistence of it; blocking out the world of all sound but its steady drumming. But strangely, it doesn't. Doesn't make you lonely, I mean. Maybe by blocking out the ambiguous void of the world out there, it has entrapped me in something certain and familiar, unrequested, but needed.
Maybe we get stuck for a reason.
Did you know the rain whispers? It is something that enchants me about this place; the reason I will never be able to settle my soul anywhere but exactly here. And a whisperer casts a spell, weaves you into the eternal and the moment all at once. The rain here does this. Tonight her voice is husky and pregnant with intention.
This place claims me. Sometimes I believe that it is I who have chosen it, but that is not true. I was claimed early on; maybe my cord was buried in the soil as I would like to believe.
Regardless, claimed. Where do I think I can run and find one that would hold me this way...
Stay. for the rain whispers it so.