The rhythm of the rain

is a tour de force Poème Symphonique

for 100 Metronomes by György Ligeti;

innumerable asphalt hits amassing

into a full meal pitch,

which, as the rain thins out

and the drops become individually discernible,

breaks up into beats,

as in Stockhausen's Kontakte

or John Chowning's Turenas

I occupy the toilet seat,

feeling light, empty and carefree

in the minimal bathroom

- once again the theater of metabolism -

feeling like flying

a intercontinental passenger jet,

almost falling over when stepping out

into the apartment,

finding myself not cruising at 40 000 feet

at 500 mph,

but standing a little dizzy

right outside the bathroom;

the building camouflaging the various speeds

of the planet in its illusive immobility,

the suddenness of the apparent motionlessness

hitting my equilibrium fast and hard,

much the same way skiing once upon a time

in a Lapland whiteout did,

when I had no real bodily awareness

of speed or direction or location,

when suddenly a mitten someone had dropped

showed up in the mist, on the snow,

rendering me an unforeseen sense of motion,

direction and causality

Other occurrences can startle you

in similar ways,

having you, figuratively, fall over,

like the sudden relief of today's thunder shower,

after a long drought

Rain is the truth!

Drought is a lie!