I love when the day can't take the heat anymore, and the sky just opens up with rain. Sunday, C. & I sat in the car talking and waiting out the storm; yesterday, when the rain rolled in, a friend and I found an awning at a little cafe in the east village, and we pulled up chairs, ordered peppermint tea and scrawled silly poems on cocktail napkins.
The sun shone as the rain fell, and I thought about when I was little and how Mama Heaton said the rain falling while the sun shined meant the devil was beating his wife. Even now, it's the first thing I think of when I'm sitting in a sunshower. Oh, the devil's beating his wife again.
Strange how we take the words of those we love and carry them as mantras--heavy pendants that knock against our breastbones as we make our way from one ghostly town to the next.