There's an opening scene in an Emmanuelle film where she and Haffron are standing at a window, looking out at some rain. Not liking the weather, she asks Haffron to take her elsewhere, and they go somewhere that isn't raining and have sex.
"Told you it was better without the rain," she says.
I don't agree.
It's a wet winter night. A far cry from the summer rain of years past, but nevertheless, it is wet. Soft rain has been falling all day and it feels, in all honesty, a bit miserable. Rain falls but it's too soft to hear. The ground is wet but you can't see it getting so. The street outside, in fact, sounds busy - people getting in and out of cars, having telephone conversations and doing work. It's not the sort of calm I associate with rainy days.
What I want to be, of course, is elsewhere. Maybe in a hotel room with a hot cup of tea and a soft bed, looking out of the window at the rain. Or in a warm car with a friend, laughing as we set off on another great adventure. Perhaps just on my way somewhere, surrounded by the rain and the night, or anywhere where I can feel protected and safe.
Looking out at the rain.
Looking back into the room and seeing the girl lying on the crumpled sheets. The one I made love to as the rain started to fall, who now sleeps, allowing me to get up, walk around and stand, staring, out of the window, through the rain, through the night, to the nearest source of light outside.
That's where I want to be. In a warm glow. Looking at the wet world of blue from my safe, dry world of yellow.
Summer rain makes me crave spontaneity. Winter rain makes me crave warmth.
With neither, what am I now?