Rainy study in Taikang Lu

In an effort to consort with grown-ups, I'm taking a course. Every Wednesday evening I get together with a group of women to work through The Artist's Way. The homework has me reading, writing and making time for independent, creative outings, which has been lovely. I'm also enjoying getting to know the other women in the group. Because a writer needs an audience, I'll be posting these pieces every so often. Feel free to send any constructive thoughts my way.

Its raining.

I mean seriously raining.

The type of rain that leaves you soaked and dripping after a simple run across the lane.

This is meant to be my time alone. My few hours with my thoughts, my creativity and my adopted city. I chose to walk the streets of the art district.

And its raining.

I do not walk. I stand. I watch the rain.

I study it, wondering if maybe it doesn't fall as heavily as it appears. If maybe, if I watch carefully, I will notice a path between the drops.

Something just shot across the lane. Could that be a rat? I have never seen a rat that big. There - it crossed again! Yellow, and its hair looks long and soft, not short or bristly. It looks like a ferret - those smelly animals we kept in cages in our sixth grade classroom. I remember other students letting them crawl in and out of their shirts, but I'd seen them bite those people and I had no interest. There it goes again! The ferret seems to have found that elusive path between the drops.

The heaviness of the rain just dropped one level. I have retreated to a chair just inside the doorway. I can not see the lane, but now I hear scattered clusters of people passing quickly by, probably gathered close under an umbrella and moving together, laughing at their clumsy efforts to stay dry.

I sit in the doorway of an art studio. A collection of art studios, piled up like freshmen dorm rooms in an ugly concrete building. The lighting is fluorescent and not enough, glowing depressingly along the grey walls. The men are not smoking now, but the room still holds the smell of cigarettes.

The rain has been turned down again. A run across the lane would not leave me wet. But what lies across the way? Only a bar, dimly lit in bluish lights. The young staff sometimes come to the doorway to wonder at the rain. One jumps into the falling water, spins happily, then dives back into the dark bar and her friends, all dressed in aprons and sleek dark hair.

Lights are dimming. Voices are slowing outside. I should go.