Pregnant and stagnant in my days, I awake to the unrivaled beauty of the sound of rain. I feel all the bad days of Summer have been washed away. The spring of the future is being refreshed. Possibilities are being fed. I know I will not feel this amount of gratitude for the rain all the months to come so I’m enjoying the joy now. (However, always grateful)
Born and bred in the Pacific Northwest, I feel a kinship to the rain. This is life here. We gear up for it and it is
apart a part of our days for most of the year. We use it and abuse it. We ride in it, celebrate it and cry in it. It is in our thoughts, our curses, our blood, our souls.
When it rains here, there are times when you can feel every drop hit your bones and trickle through your marrow. Sending icy shivers and contempt through the body only to be soothed by a hot cuppa and a conversation with a good friend or a good book.
I read Paul Harding, Tinkers. I sip my morning cuppa tea. I eat my muffin with cream cheese. I contemplate my hours before the noise returns.
“There was an early January thaw and it had been raining all day, but just before sunset the storm clouds passed and it rained only in the trees. Steam lifted off of the snow. Trees stood half in light, half in shadow as the sun lowered and striped the world in weave half of itself, half of the approaching evening.”
In Part 2 of Tinkers.
Peace, love and rain clouds.