Rain

It is raining again and, on days like this, is when I really do miss London. When I was living there, everyone here in Spain was asking me about the rain and the fog. Fog? Twice a year, not much. Rain... That mostly everyday. But somehow the rain over there didn't quite bothered me and it became just another piece of the landscape. Like a tree. Here, when it rains it pours and it is, sometimes, quite annoying. Especially in this horrible town that does not have sewers --or at least not in my borough. The seven hundred feet from my office (where I am now) to my house, turn into a race with obstacles where the fences become puddles.
I remember rainy days at Earl's Court Tube Station [it always makes me smile how English is that the borough is not written like that but Earls Court] waiting for my train connection to my house in Kensington. I remember the queues of men and women. And now, after reading While England Sleeps (David Leavitt), my memories of spring-time in London are blurred by the rain.

I have just seen how Autumn has just arrived. I was in a car (I wasn't driving) and the wind and the rain was making move the branches of the maple trees and its leaves where falling, some of them slowly and some faster pushed by the water and the air.
I've been listening to Amos Lee today. A perfect match. Rain+Amos. Though, I would have loved to be in a cottage with chandeliers all around and a big fire place heating me up while I read a good book [perhaps Leavitt also]. A very interesting thick book. I look out of the window, I observe the rain, the leaves, the trees, the prairie. I look at the horizon and I wonder if it could be better.

I guess the answer is no.