I had a long walk through my neighborhood tonight, under the threat of very large and flashing storm clouds. I knew there was a high chance that I'd wind up under a downpour, but it seemed worth it to meander through the cool but heavy darkness, surrounded by the flicker of fireflies and the booms of toads. I never exactly forget how beautiful my neighborhood is, but there are definitely times I ... feel it more than others. Those times when I'm a little awed that this is my neighborhood. I live here. I made this happen. It makes me simultaneously proud and lonely in a way I can't describe.
After (silently but literally) counting off the 150 paces from my driveway entrance to my doorstep, I made straight for my bath without turning on any lights. When I started the water, I realized it was probably going to be a long one, so I launched a playlist I hadn't listened to in a long while. I settled in and, thanks to the iPhone Remote application, kept a casual eye on what was playing. You know it's a good playlist when every song makes you think "ooh I should play this whole album. I'll wait to see what's next. Ooh I should play this whole album!"
I was several songs in when a long, low intro started to spool out. I knew it was something I liked, something I hadn't heard in a long time. The very moment my mind was grasping the tune -- "Tinseltown in the Rain" by the Blue Nile -- fat raindrops started plinking down on the metal awning over my back porch, next to my open bathroom window, as if the word "rain" in my head had invoked the waiting shower. I laughed, really taken by the moment in a rare and wonderful way.