Some of my most favourite memories from my childhood stemmed from my love of rain. I love walking in it, and smelling the air after it. I even like the feel of the air just before the rain hits. There is this silence which is so deafening you know that it will need the rain to break it. When the summer rains would come, I would grab my boots, jacket and (if I had one) my umbrella, and off I’d go on a long afternoons walk. I didn’t care if I came home drenched to the bone. Just the feeling of being out there sloshing around in the puddles, and seeing the ground covered with water, the grass dark green and lush, flowers bobbing their heads with the weight of the water brought me such a simple joy. It felt like the whole world seemed to be silent and waiting to slowly wake up, again, because of the rain! Like as the clouds became more and more soddened with the weight of the unfallen rain, the land, animals and me began to need it, anticipate it and feel the deep desire to be washed by it again. Odd to feel that way about rain, but it’s how I often felt. I think God’s gift of rain to me would make me feel like how I imagined, as a child, Anne (with an ‘e’) Shirley felt sometimes. Especially when she walked through the haunted woods just as dusk appeared. Surreal, small, a leap of exiting fear hitting my heart, and joy of having it all to myself (figuratively of course) for just a little while, as I splashed and tromped through it!
My best time though was Autumn rains, especially if they were accompanied by the symphony of the wind too. I love the whipping wind. Oh I don’t love that wind that causes mass destruction in it’s wake, but the blustery blowy wind of which the Lord uses to strip the trees of the weight of their dying leaves. This wind made me feel completely free, my hair blowing all over the place, my jacket softly shaping itself to my body. The wind with the soft rain, working together to bring down the beautiful rainbow of leaves, tearing them from their branches and preparing them for their winter’s sleep. Rain makes me feel as close to poetry as I can get. Trust me, I’m not a great poet so getting me close to poetry is a big thing. I’ve always found I write my best poetry in the Autumn, now that I’ve had my epiphany, I can see why. It’s the rain, and of course, the wind too -but mostly the rain.
Having said this, there is one rain I’m not all that partial to. I do not like walking in winter in the rain. This is something I do not wish to do. Fortunately for me, my dear friend is coming to pick me up so I don’t have to walk in a winter’s rain today. Winter rain has it’s own beauty, though I do not wish to be trudging about in it. I much rather watch it from the inside of my house, as I gaze out the window. Winter rain, tells me that soon, very soon, Spring rain will follow. The land and the earth will once again gallop to life. Flowers will begin to pop out their heads, buds will show themselves on the trees, the brown earth will burst forth in green again. Winter rains herald the coming of Spring. Spring rains open the earth for the warmth and heat and colour of summer. Summer rains give way to my beloved Autumn rains. Then I wait. I wait for the special moment when the Indian summer rains combine with the blustery Autumn day. Then I once again will grab my boots, my jacket, my umbrella (if I have one) and sneak away. I’ll come back, wet, happy and refreshed in my soul.
