Raining in, raining out

I have never, ever had writer's block, artist's block, or any other kind of creative block. Never.
"Shhhh!" you say. "You'll jinx it".
Good.
I could use a little quiet. The noise, the noise, the noise. So like the rain outside, never like a faucet dripping. That, I can shut out.
It's Monday morning and raining hard. It's disconcerting, in the way it goes against the desert-ness of the desert. Now we've had more rain than in a decade (according to the news) and this place has a strange new face.
"We're so gonna die" is what Aubrey said in the car the other day. She was looking at the hills, formerly of the rock variety, now sprouting like really ugly Chia pets. Palm Springs can get very claustrophobic. Geographically, it's a deep thumb print on the edge of the mountains. The grocery store I wander late at night has nothing behind but mountain. It is literally on the edge. Now all these rocky faces are covered in greenery that will turn to brownery in summer, then kindling, then I'll be sending you photos because there is nothing quite like a palm tree in flames.
I hope you enjoyed the pics of Windy's party, because that's it for awhile. I don't get out much, you know. It's flooding in places here, mud slides over in LA. Mudslides in my head. These last weeks I've been flooded with images and ideas. So much so that I begin to suspect I'm wandering into some sort of mania. It would make sense, considering my family tree. Or growing a tumor. I don't sleep well, am irritable and preoccupied. All this stuff has sprouted up around me. The studio is crammed with work and work in progress. Lost and Found is splayed out on the table like an autopsy.
Will I ever, ever escape the fucking morgue?
I look around at all this and hear Aubrey again....
After this flood, will it all will dry up? Will it burn? Will I burn out?
No. It doesn't happen. Ever. But eventually it slows to a drizzle. At least then, I can think.
I never, ever thought I'd say this but, I'm getting tired of rain.