I drifted in and out of sleep since 5 am. For some reason, I was joyous when I realised that the cause of my disturbed slumber was the sound of rain: pattering on the scaffolding and balcony surrounding our first-floor apartment, occasionally slooshing free from a gutter. When I peered through the teary windows into our courtyard, steam rose up from the downstairs inhabitants’ shower. After so many warm Spring days, I felt relieved and revived by the return of the rain.
Yesterday, I read an essay about ‘airing practices’, specifically ‘air management’ in the domestic environment*. It’s less dry than it sounds. The researcher interviewed a handful of Danish women. These interviewees described their routines and tacit knowledge about when to air their homes by opening a window, allowing a breeze to wander through.
I was most interested in the interviewees’ accounts of ‘being in the moment’, prompted by opening the window. Suddenly, after a time of being insulated, the window-opener receives a flavour of the weather outside – the sounds, the smells, the temperatures, the humidity… the ‘freshness’.
This morning I consciously opened windows in my bedroom, kitchen, and living room – where I am writing now. It seemed counter-intuitive to invite the outside in on the first morning of rain. That was until I did it.
Raindrops softly drum the wooden scaffolding boards outside, with the occasional ‘ting’ of impacted metal. Each globule travels at terminal velocity, until it reaches the ground, beginning (again) a subterranean journey back to the sea at the end of our road. Pure prana.
Observing the activity and transience of the weather outside reminds me of a passage in a small, dark book about happiness, written by a Japanese Philosopher a few decades ago. Instinct prompted me to borrow a copy from the library at Durham. Of course, now I cannot find this gem amongst all the self-help books which pop up in my Google search. But I do remember reading about the human ecstasy of watching raindrops fall onto a mahogany terrace while sipping steamy tea.
*Hauge, B. (2013). The air from outside: Getting to know the world through air practices. Journal of Material Culture, 18(2), 171-187.
Bonus: a poem for a rainy day.