It’s Rainin it’s Pourin the old…
The strong, cool breeze coming through the opened window and the darkening room startle me. Jumping up quickly from the sofa, I look out the back window, and in the distance I see the strong wind blowing the farmer’s crops back and forth. I start closing the windows, but the wind, announcing the oncoming storm, draws me to the front porch. I want to be a part of this event, and not hide in the house attached to all my electronic gear. Settling myself in the cushioned wicker chair on the porch, I await the arrival of the distant summer storm.
Looking west I witness storm clouds gathering for their grand performance to begin. All my senses are alert. The birds twitter, sending a warning to their flock to find a safe hiding place before the pelting rain begins. Soon no birds are flying; all are tucked into the arms of the trees and shrubs. The heavy moisture fills my lungs with a rich earthy smell and I see the trees and bushes bend to and fro from the strong wind.
As the storm draws closer, I spot lightening and start counting for the thunder clap. The storm is about ten miles away from the house, then the rain starts; light at first but with strong wind the rain falls harder and harder. Looking out, I see wet diamonds fall onto the heavy black asphalt road. The rain is so intense it appears to put up a grey wet veil which hides the distant view telling me to stay in the present moment. A river starts running in the street gutters bringing back memories of childhood. After a summer storm all the neighborhood children would sail twigs or paper boats in the newly formed gutter streams outside our houses. The strong earthy smell of rain and wet soil brings back remembrances of Saturday rain storms when I was a young. After my father went to work and my mother went back to sleep, my older sister and I would fill mugs with leftover morning coffee and add lots of milk and sugar. Sitting on the bed next to the window in our room, we would press our noses against the tin screen and smell the earth. We wouldn’t talk; we just watched the rain and sipped our precious diluted drinks.
Now another lightening strike, more counting and the awaited thunder clap is fourteen miles away. The storm is not approaching the house; I can stay on the porch. The noise of rain, thunder, and lightning turns off all human noises. By only hearing nature I begin to feel more in tune with mother earth. Peacefulness descends on me. The storm is letting up. Now I see the playful raindrops dancing on our walkway, a gentler cool breeze rustles through the branches and the peacefulness of the trees and plants, soaking up the water, is felt. They appear to be grateful for the rain. The leaves are standing upright and have a renewed shine.
A tender misty rain now falls and the birds are chirping to each other. I’d love to know what they are saying. Perhaps they are grateful for a free bath and a good long drink. Finally, the rain stops but the noise of water running along the house gutters and downspouts gives off a soft soothing restful gurgling tune. The receding thunder whispers back to me until there is silence. I watch the cool breeze blow through the flowers and shrubs. The earth is once again refreshed and renewed. But unlike the old man in the nursery rhyme who was snoring during the rain storm, I became part of a cleansing process in tune with nature. In taking just a few minutes of my time, with only nature to entertain me, I became refreshed and renewed.