The resonance of rain against any taut surface is immediately relaxing, hypnotizing, somnastic. Whether against the stretch canvas covering of a tent or enclosure, the metaled or tiles roof of erection, even an expanse of leaven cover neath tree, bush or hedge, the effect is universally immediate and overpowering. Mine own undeniable reaction is to psychologically wrap a warm comforter or blanket around my head and shoulders and hunker down in deep and rejuvenating hibernation, much as a small and weary beast might be inclined to do come the harsh vagaries of wintertime.
Today is such a sodden day, sky dark with heavy clouds, wind just strong enough to make the downpour forcefully invade any wakeful ear, drenching a world made dusty and tarnished by summers oppressiveness suddenly rinsed and glistening neath overdue deluge.
Snuggled down, safely swaddled, dreams are happily inclined to formulate, visions of brighter, more joyful hours spent during those sun kissed days and moon blessed nights, warmer, balmier times that ever fill the soul with a different breed of languorous torpor.
Repose, which is the one consistency throughout each life span, seamlessly stitching together imaginings and reality, occasionally confusedly, often juxtaposed, blending into perfect compote what is, what is not, and what might be, into the murky batter that creates memory, both bald faced liar and truth teller, coloring collectively all understanding and fear.
Humankinds story, both the impossible and plausible, are encapsulated in those few short seconds betwixt slumbering and bestirredness, between the hypnagogic or transversely the hypnopompic, when the full capabilities of mind are momentarily set free, without the distraction of familiar reality, to encompass all, beyond filter and exception.
“We are all stuff as dreams do make us, and our little life is rounded with a sleep.” -William Shakespeare.