THE RAIN

When we moved into our new house, after living in a flat in the city, we suddenly had a spare garage, lucky I know. All it really needed was a door. My parents had kept their old front door after remodeling their house entrance, and were happy to donate the old door to us. Now the entrance to my studio is the door of the house in which I grew up. I find that strangely poetic. Its an old house and we are slowly but surely fixing it up. One of the first things my diligent husband felt needed doing was some gutters. Now, when I'm working and it rains it sounds like a gushing river running along my roof. I'm trying to explain to myself why I love that sound so much: the obvious reasons are that we are all desperate for water, our gardens, our dams. But on a deeper level that sound to me means "being loved and taken care of"