The Small Rain

by Madeleine L'Engle.

Western wind, when wilt thou blow,
The small rain down can rain?
Christ, if my love were in my arms
And I in my bed again!

As Katherine started down the path, she saw a light go on at the far side of the building, and she turned and went toward it. Music poured out toward her as she walked slowly, quietly, up to the window. Crouching against the wall, she listened. He was playing (for she knew without looking that it was the stranger she had run into), playing a Bach Toccata and Fugue that had been one of Julie's favorite's. Her cheek pressed against the rough gray stone of the building, she listened until she heard the bell that meant she would have to run back to school if she was not to be late--and to be late on top of everything that had happened would be sheer stupidity. She ran. And in her mind ran the grievance that had been there since her first day in the place. Manya had chosen this school because Miss Valentine drew her piano teachers from the Montreux Conservatory, but not one music lesson had Katherine had, because the teacher to whom she was assigned was off on a tour and would be late getting back to town. And half an hour a day was she was allowed to practice. She made up her mind she would speak to Miss Valentine about it the next day. She must have a music teacher, any music teacher, if she was to stay sane in this place. Because her misery was making her neglect her music. During her practice period she sat looking blankly at the keys, aching all over with loneliness for her mother, longing for Julie to lash her into work, to scold her, to swear at her. She would think--I must practice, I must. Mother'd be so furious with me.--But she couldn't work.

Me and my quotes. I'm not so good with the words though, and I am willing and glad to admit when others say it better than I do. Which is most of the time.

Madeleine L'Engle and C.S. Lewis always say it better.

Another quote with commentary tomorrow from this the lovely book I'm currently reading.