Tea and Tunes

Cling about her,
Waters blue;
Part not from her,
But renew.

- George MacDonald

The rain is falling gently now. I can hear it pattering outside my door, falling into flower pots and the tin watering can. My thoughts drop frequently like the droplets that accumulate in the watering can. Perhaps they are collecting in my mind, but they need somewhere to go. If I pick them up and pour them out, will they water the soil and help flowers to grow?

Earlier, the clouds built up on the horizon; it grew deeper into the realm of blackness. It was like the clouds over Mordor, the black land of Middle-earth; the land that always looms over the cheerful places. A menacing strength lingered in the clouds as they moved swiftly towards us. There is no escaping a storm as it heads toward you. The only way out is to hold your ground, let it sweep over you, and come out the other side. Oftentimes, there is necessity in the storm. There is rejoicing in the emergence. 

As the rain falls, I can think of no better way to make an evening of rain cosier, than steeping a cup of mint tea, and playing some music on the piano as the tea cools. There isn't much required, except a dozen minutes to play some tunes. My fingers glide across the keys and familiar notes sound according to my mood. Sometimes I play faster than I should, as if to give my fingers a work out. Other times, I play slower and moodier, with an air of melancholy. Sometimes I play louder, with more enthusiasm. 

My audience is the rain tonight, the blooming tulips on my table, and my books sitting on the sofa.