Pining for rain in this mild winter evening, and think of Amsterdam. It was 2001 late autumn when we arrived, with the rain came before us. Periods of it, sometimes very hard and then not at all, wetting the bridges and cobblestones and hundreds of bicycles, all dressed in grey. We rushed into a cafe. From the outside we could see the candelabras—old fashioned, elaborate, dripping thick waxy icicles, and a roomful of tiny flames flickering. It was the kind of place for lovers to sit and hold hands.
Maybe it’s that kind of place that I’m really pining for, when romance is so real and part of every day life. Maybe all I need to do is to light a candle and turn off the light. The rain may not come for some time.
