Tuesday, September 8, 2009
The rain fell methodically. It droned so evenly and constantly that its sound nearly disappeared. The occasional drop that struck the thin plastic lid of my disposable coffee cup punctuated this wash of sound with a slightly more pronounced resonance. The rain had endurance, tenacity, and discipline. It was unaffected by its emotions. It just kept going. All was wet, both with moisture and the rain’s unwavering tone. It had no ebb or flow. It had no rise or fall. It had no dynamics. It was a long distance runner. It was punctuated by the occasional drop that struck the thin plastic lid of my disposable coffee cup. What this sort of sustain lacks in aesthetics, it compensates for with accumulation. The flooding was destructive. It seems so harmless, when you tune it out, when you forget about it. It collects like interest on a loan. Then its wealth of discontent becomes apparent, not in a sensational, cathartic, explosive moment, but as a gradual revelation of its toll. Through time, it builds, erodes and destroys. Incrementally, subtly, and painlessly, it informs you of its consequences.