The wind has stopped...

And it's raining in San Francisco. It's warmer today and deliciously drippy, with no hint of wind. It feels like the city is wrapped in a giant, warm blanket, with the low clouds and drip, drip, drip of the rain. I am in rain heaven. It feels cleansing, and comfortable and familiar - and the smell of wet concrete was tickling my nose this morning as I left my apartment for work. Another smell that brings back a miriad of memories. Usually, you don't smell that in Portland until July or August, and so, ironically, all the memories are of summer, but it's only May yet.

In honor of this lovely, rainy day, a poem:

A Spring Rain by Raymond A. Foss

The world is wet today
luxurious, damp, drenched
drops hug the leaves,
anoint the still budded lilac blossoms
before their blooming
rich purple and plum
made richer by their watery skin
New leaves under the weight
droplets heavy, hanging
bowing the white pine needles
undersides exposed to drink
drink in the morning
hushed in the rain
temperature near the dewpoint
sprouts of just planted flowers
eager from the parched soil
new puddles bloom too
on the ground, the driveway
collect and gather
without the smell of summer rain yet
splash and spread
silent shimmers, heralds, messengers
in the spring rain