“These diamonds on my windshield are tears from heaven.” - Tom Waits
Tom Waits growled from the speakers. Unlike Bobby McGee, the windshield wipers didn’t keep time. Probably just as well.
It was a Tom Waits kind of evening.
Earlier, after the conversation about God, General Relativity, faith, planetary accretion, and a stop at the book store, it had really started to rain.
The night swam with headlights. It had taken forever to get a sandwich. The new store was bustling, an oasis in the dark, and the cheerful crew was working as hard as they could through a mountain of orders. Their joviality was as admirable as their efficiency.
“Yeah man, been working here three years. It’s a simple thing we do - slinging sandwiches and cigarettes to the community, but we try to do it as best we can, and cheerfully.” - Joshua, Roanoke Sheetz
I ordered a black coffee while I waited. Those guys sure were living their work night. Glancing at my reflection in the rainy window, my applejack hat and damp overcoat put the thought in my head. The motor turned over, and it was eastbound on 460, into the rainy night.
Play Tom Waits on Spotify.
Here was the perfect song.
“Well these diamonds on my windshield, are tears from heaven.”
I stared into the gloom, keeping the car at 60 miles an hour. There would be no alt-text astronomy observation tonight.
I’ll write about this.
Blocks of Color
Tom conveys the feeling of a long highway drive on a rainy night. But what about the sights?
Most everything is a glistening black. Pavement shines in the headlights. Some beams are blue-tinged, the color of Rigel in Orion. Mine are a bit warmer - Capella yellow.
The dash board in front of me is a matte dark, punctuated by white, green, and red indicators and dials.
60 mph blazes in white - the color of Sirius.
The blackness presses in, and white lines of the pavement are faintly visible under the spray and splash of the rain.
Out of the night, signs seem to spring up, giant isolated pixels, squares of a single color made shiny by the driving rain..
BLUE: Food and Lodging next right.
GREEN: Smith Mountain Lake, next exit.
A sunny day yields a nuanced scene, with blends of colors and infinite detail.
The rainy night presents huge, sudden blocks of a single hue.
ORANGE: Road Work Ahead.
They seem lonely, waiting for the sun to return. Bravely they stand in the rain, guiding travelers home.
Diamonds
As the water swishes under the tires, the raindrops pelt the windshield, clear drops, diamonds indeed. The wind pushes them around, and they move, sometimes slowly, sometimes quickly, in squiggly, watery patterns, scattering the oncoming light from cars into pieces. Picture light scattering as sound echoing in a parking garage. Then they’re swept away by the windshield wipers. The road continues to unfold, black and shiny. The raindrops splash on the pavement, forming shapes like tiny white ducks.
I lean forward, squinting.
Tom sings of pouring rain, Cuban jails, and stepping on the Devil’s tail.
The tower on Long Mountain blinks red in the mist.
Home at last.
I shut off the lights, and a gray stillness envelops the car. Only the rain is heard on the roof.
Treasures from Earth
I’m heading east to Richmond soon. It’s time to talk about ragtime and Scott Joplin. His dedication to his craft let him elevate it from saloon music into a foundational piece of American music.
Just like the fellows slinging sandwiches on the night shift, nothing is “simple” or unworthy of the deepest respect and care.
The thing about Scott is…one shouldn’t just talk about him. Here’s something for you to listen to.
Happy Friday!
Tom Waits is fantastic. As his career continues, the prolonged night he creates gives way to something darker, stranger. Almost like you’ve finally fallen into a fitful sleep and you fall into bizarre dreams every once in a while.