Raining Again

The rain started up again, in fact just a few minutes ago. My swollen, sleep-deprived eyes can’t believe it. Just when I gathered myself together to do a Safeway run.

It looks cold out there, and naturally I left my car around the corner, not in the driveway where the wet brown leaves of the cherry tree stain the windshield, and I don’t have an umbrella: it’s in the car.

Late last night, when I couldn’t sleep, I started reading The New Painting: Impressionism 1874 – 1886. That’s the book I balance carefully on my lap (It is quite a hefty tome, dear blog readers) now, because I’ve decided to stay home after all — or, at least, to postpone my Safeway run for after it stops raining.

I wish I could be in that landscape in Auvers (painted by Paul Cézanne, about whom Emile Zola wrote: “Paul Cézanne, who has been struggling for a long time, unquestionably has the temperament of a great painter.”), or looking at chestnut trees at Osny (painted by Camille Pissarro), or in a meadow (painted by Monet).

I wish I could be at a ball at the Moulin de la Galette (painted by Renoir), or spending an evening with those women in a French café (painted by Degas), or looking at the bridge at Argenteuil (painted by Sisley).

How beautiful, I think, are these rivers, these rooftops, these women reading by a window, these gardens, these paths, these woods, these children, these summer days.

These terraces, these balconies, these markets, these mothers and daughters, this sunlight.


  1. freskocity said,

    April 1, 2010 at 2:31 am

    It looks like Rain did some good today. Gorgeous rainy day-dreams.

  2. April 1, 2010 at 3:43 am

    Yes, forced inactivity or confinement is sometimes an excellent trigger for the writing!

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