It's a stormy, moonless, starless Saturday night in the prairies.
Autumn doesn't start until the Equinox, but the cool air the rain brought along sure smells like it.
It was that kind of a night--1,500 kilometers away--a month ago. And it was then that I wrote about listening to the calming sound of raindrops outside, which acted as an additional instrument to a musical recording.
Two nights conflate into a self-aware déjà vu, only this time around I'm only listening to the rain. But this night's eternal return also reminds me that the lady to whom I previously referred as my "Japanese mother" condensed that particular blog to a single line:
月もなく 星もなき夜は ひとり聞く 雨音にロックのリフが重なるを
I cannot be a judge of poetry outside of Russian and English. Yet apart from being surprised that my observations are worth translating--and truly impressed by the effort--I realize that I need to be less verbose!