The sound of rain on the roof at night

I love the West Coast deeply. It truly is one of the sanctuaries of the Earth. Velvet grey clouds blanket the entire sky, spanning the horizons; rain drizzles and drips through the dense moist air and taps the leaves of trees…

And there’s leaves everywhere. Everything green grows abundantly on the West Coast. Even the concrete is green with lichen and moss. Foliage smothers the landscape. Huge, gnarled, moss-covered black trees are everywhere, clawing at the sky, grasping for sunlight beyond their reach.

The air is salty, smells like ocean, is cool and moist.

I even love rainy days, of which there are many here. Cold, grey days with the wind whipping rain at the ground. It’s beautiful. Everything here is so damn beautiful.

I do most of my work at night, when my head is clear, and the world is asleep. Tonight, the rain is drizzling, softly hitting the roof of this old, grey house. It’s one of my simple pleasures in life, hearing this.