Oh, it sounds like a river running, rushing and I stone midstream. This rain this time of year in Vancouver doesn't stop and I'm not sure I'd request it if it did. I open my ears to a sound described as shaw, high pitched, like endless tires running through puddles, like a breathy hiss without ss, like a stone standing midriver, unmovable but deeply moved as the water parts itself and smothers me, unimpressed by steadfastness, foundation and rigidity.

I am a bath-every-night-hotter-than-the-tea-kettle kinda girl, but today I turned on the shower and had a seat. Like in the rain, letting water run rush right over me. It is not often, not often at all, that my head is touched knows this feeling - every two months I wash them out, these dirty now clean locks, these saturated now empty locks, these intense now trite locks. How profound the rare whet scalp ritual can be.

Up here in the mountains it is a late nite again and I am so so fortunate that worn as I feel, I cannot seem to get to bed earlier. I am writing, I am planning, I am meeting, I am imagining, I am choreographing, I am organizing, I am filming a dvd all in two days. I am really glad I am slipping in the sleep. Up here in the mountains, the spacious home of the producers; live fooders too, where I am staying - so so fortunate me. There is only a magnificent view of majestic wave Lion's Gate Bridge from my bedroom window, such a desktop picture from way up here. There is only forest, the Mt. Grouse Grind and forest, in the summer frequently wildly courageous black bear the Mt. Grouse Grind and forest, so far up the hill in the British Properties are we. The rain gains momentum and splits itself apart and has a laugh at the mountain - I can hear it now on either side of me.

And just now, when I am needed by so many friends (how do these things work like this, the stars dictate I'm forced to believe) - only now, when my days are pure schedule and my nites sneak sleep, do my friends call upon me honestly need me. News of illness, accident, betrayal, disease, an early child’s life lost...these things have found my closest friends and family, how do they do it all at once, and thus present themselves to me? I feel competent to handle them, I can balance all upsets, I want to be a good daughter, granddaughter, ex-lover, best girlfriend. I know I will do it all…Humbled by my own complexity.

As a beautiful shaw sings across reflecting streets. I turn a noise-maker on, set it to ‘rain storm’ and put my ear plugs in to grab some sleep…

Now empty.

Now trite.

Now clean.

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