Radar creep.

It’s raining on and off.  It does that here, more on than off.  I want to go for a bike ride, find a gap between the showers, so I'm watching the radar loop, the density and direction of the blob, and also the timing.  This particular loop is the most informative of those available to me.  The zoom feature and 10-min gap between frames makes it possible to estimate arrival and departure of rain in your particular neighbourhood. 

Watching a radar loop creates a sound in my head, toneless rhythmic music.  My brain provides a soundtrack for the motion, the radar creep.  There must be a word.

As I am puzzling over this, a song from an obscure band is playing on the radio, a promo for a show in a local bar tonight.  One little snippet in the song reminds me of a small snatch of a song from a famous group, but now my brain fails me, can’t quite get hold of it.  I can’t remember the words or the melody, only the plaintive quality of the singer’s voice and the pepped up choppiness of the lyrics of a section of the song.

So I go about whatever else, filing paid bills, mostly, being bugged by a would-be earworm whose name I don’t know.  From previous experience I expect that if I keep it on a back burner, eventually the song will pop into my head, and usually it’s a disappointing, “Oh, that.”

It starts to grow a bit, to the point where I can hear another song on the radio without losing what I have gathered.  I figure I probably own a copy of the song, whatever it is, because it doesn’t seem like a song that would get a lot of radio airplay, at least back when I listened to the radio for music.  I stare at my shelf of CDs, place a finger.  My finger knows.

"Oh I like coffee and I like tea... "

It’s Run-around.  (Blues Traveler.)  I take out the disc and play the song, a song of victory.

And now the rain has passed.  I saddle up and ride off.