All around my bed in which I wake up in the heart of Paris water drops on the tin-plated roofs, the chimneys protected with metal plates, and the house-front ledges coved with steel sheets. While I continue to keep my eyes closed it seems to me that the rain is hesitant about really coming down: here a light plop, there a dark gong, here a metallic click, there a short clap – the roofs of Paris as the drum set in a heaven that will only allow sound the hint of a rhythm.
Actually, it rains in currents – and what I hear are particularly big drops that fall on particular spots. Earlier as I lay dozing on my bad ear on the pillow my better ear automatically isolated the raindrops and heard just the music, not the noise from the street, the cries of the seagulls, or the clatter of the dishes from the flat opposite. Now, as I have turned onto my back the sounds create a space in which the drops are only vaguely audible.
First Publication: 15-1-2015