For a brief moment this afternoon, the skies swelled and let out a drizzle of water. The grounds opened up and plants extended their thirsty leaves towards those dark clouds.
These moments are rare. I scramble to the piano, open the nearest window, and hastily fumble for my book of Beethoven sonatas. The page flips halt at the Op. 109, third movement.
Playing along with rain is gracefully pleasant. In softer passages, the delicate plunks of the keys form a duet with the outside world. Instead of the usual burning silence, empty rests are filled with rain patter. This creates a whole new texture: something earthy yet ethereal.
The sky is grey and the house is unlit, but my heart is as warm as a crackling hearth.