The slap slap, pat pat of the rain as it is coming down — as it has been coming down all day — is comforting, is womb-like. I'm comforted by the enclosed feeling of sopping, sodden, saturated outside and the endless variations of dripping that float in through my screened windows, which give me permission to curl up with pillow and blanket and book and just read until my eyes flutter shut.

Ah, here comes another wave, it approaches and crests and blots out and then retreats into silence. And the bright, sudden strobe flash of lightning, even.

I bought gauzy second-layer curtains specifically for days like this, when the heat makes the apartment too warm I throw open the sash and let the outside breeze waft the curtains, billowing with invisible fingers, poking out but never in and making the cloth ripple like … like water.

It has been quite an April shower, today has. The dog has to go out and is looking at me balefully: She knows.

But it will smell so nice once I'm there.