When rain darkened my navy blue shirt I recalled the hermit who, listening to water dancing
on his roof in rhythms he had "not yet learned to recognize" while toasting bread over a log
fire, or cooking an oatmeal dinner on a propane stove, he wrote, "Nobody started it, nobody
is going to stop it. It will talk as long as it wants, this rain. As long as it talks, I will listen."

There are people who live long enough to hear a coyote howling at the direction from which
rain could be their one mysterious life.