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
and what music to my soul that is
It is….
You are clearly outside my house this morning, pal.
Here to Lori…
Here 3!! ☔️💦☔️💦
Isn’t that something! (and don’t want to take this to a dark place…but perhaps someone large is grieving with New Zealand)
Yes it really could be. We have all shed tears for this deep tragedy and Mother Nature is reflecting this grief back 😞
I like the sound of rain we have melting snow now 🤗 smiles Hedy
Me too. Us too!
The sun is finally out here, after three days of rain and rain and more rain…
What a great set up for the weekend.
Reblogged this on It Is What It Is and commented:
The power of words!! … Marcel Proust, Remembrance of Things Past …
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.
Yes. ME too. Your comment reminds me of:
Don’t run any more.
Quiet.
How softly it rains
On the roofs of the city.
How perfect
All things are…
~ Czeslaw Milosz, After Paradise
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.
In French! You did! Wow. Depth of your talent has no bounds.
Oh so lovely