Spring Rain

Tarbaby was anxious to get outside after the early afternoon rain. 63 degrees. Overcast and light fog in the distance. A bluejay called his place in flight through the woods across the road. Door open. Hearing drips of rain from the roof splash in little puddles among the rocks on the ground. Colors are brighter when the sky is a cloud's silver lining and everything on the ground is wet. The greens of this time of year freshly unfurled are radiant in the way they stand reaching to the source of light. The greens are vibrant today and the violets too. The rain has picked up again. Through the window I see the heartshaped leaves of the violets dancing, set into motion by the tapping of raindrops. A little wind is passing through, enough to make the wind chime ring the occasional note. Spring rain and a ringing note brings Toru Takemitsu to mind, Japanese composer dead of old age, who composed music inspired by these sounds and the dance of leaves bobbing in the rain.

Tarbaby assessed after looking around that everything was wet. He doesn't mind getting wet, to a point, and he'd rather be outside hunting mice in the meadows around the house. Tarbaby came back to the house to sit on his chair and look out the window. After grooming himself awhile, he jumped down and went to the open door and sat looking outside with Caterpillar who was already there.