An Ordinary Day After the Rain
When I woke up in the morning, a light drizzle was still falling outside the window. Fine strands of rain slanted through the air like threads of ox hair, weaving the distant rooftops and trees into a delicate ink wash. I opened the window, and the damp scent of earth drifted in, mingling with the fresh smell of grass and gardenias, instantly driving away the last traces of sleepiness. The flagstone path downstairs gleamed after the rain, reflecting the overcast sky. Now and then, someone passed by with an umbrella, walking softly, as if afraid to disturb the stillness after the rain.
After washing up, I cooked myself a bowl of noodles with greens. Once the water boiled, I added the noodles. When they floated to the surface, I tossed in a few leaves of greens, then finished with a spoonful of sesame oil and a sprinkle of chopped scallions. Sitting at the dining table, I watched the rain outside and slowly ate the steaming noodles. Warmth spread through my stomach, and I felt comforted all over. When I finished, I put the bowl in the sink and went to the balcony to gather the laundry. The bedsheets I had hung out yesterday still smelled of sunshine. As I folded them, it felt as though I were tucking the warmth of a sunny day into the wardrobe, too.
I spent the morning tending to the plants on the balcony. After several days of rain, the leaves of the pothos had grown even greener, its vines trailing down the railing like a curtain. I watered the gardenia. Its buds were plump, and it would surely bloom in a few days. The succulents in the corner were dotted with raindrops, their chubby leaves looking especially adorable. Once I was done, I brought a chair to the balcony and opened a book I hadn’t finished. The patter of rain made natural background music. As I read, my gaze kept drifting to the window, watching the rain fall on the leaves and the droplets roll off the petals
