Saturday Morning

A little tap at the window, as though some missile had struck it, followed by a plentiful, falling sound, as light, though, as if a shower of sand were being sprinkled from a window overhead; then the fall spread, took on an order, a rhythm, became liquid, loud, drumming, musical, innumerable, universal. It was the rain.

Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past

Photo: David Salter with rain


  1. and what music to my soul that is

    Liked by 1 person

  2. You are clearly outside my house this morning, pal.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. Here 3!! ☔️💦☔️💦

    Liked by 1 person

  4. I like the sound of rain we have melting snow now 🤗 smiles Hedy

    Liked by 1 person

  5. The sun is finally out here, after three days of rain and rain and more rain…

    Liked by 1 person

  6. Reblogged this on It Is What It Is and commented:
    The power of words!! … Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past …


  7. Anonymous says:

    I love the sound of rain on pretty much any surface. I especially love it when I can sit outside under a canopy or extension of the roof… so peaceful.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Yes. ME too. Your comment reminds me of:

      Don’t run any more.
      How softly it rains
      On the roofs of the city.
      How perfect
      All things are…

      ~ Czeslaw Milosz, After Paradise


  8. How dramatic and capturing Proust gives us the rain! I only read his work in French (and only a tiny bit at that) so I didn’t realize what I was missing,…thank you again for another lovely selection.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Oh so lovely

    Liked by 1 person

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