as simple as...


Some days I think it may be as simple as I love the sound of rain more than anything in the world. And I am impressed by men who tuck their shirts in. By people who are willing to risk looking uncool. That a smile is a moving, living thing—and to watch it come about—how the face moves and the skin around the eyes softens and crinkles—how it mostly cannot not be stopped once it’s begun—this always floors me. Makes jelly of my knees. The humanity and the divinity of that everyday thing.


I still open the door to my small studio apartment and find myself in awe of this little tree-house-of-a-space. This is mine? For a time, this is mine? These white walls? And this window that peers out over only green? Heaven. That these trees fill me in a way that the Manhattan skyline does not—there is an answer in that.


I am sitting now before that window, watching as the soft rain falls, steady and stunning in its descent. How the occasional drops slap against the rail of my small fire escape--how there is a splash--a momentary bounce back. And how some drops collect and hang--upside-down crystal balls telling nothing of the future and everything of the past.


What miracles make up the every day. Perhaps this rain will make for a slightly more difficult day. Perhaps much of New York will run slower, bent at the knees by this common thing. I can hear the complaints. Already, I know what will be said. But listen to the music of it, will be my response. Have you ever heard anything so good?