After two weeks of very unhealthy and hazardous air quality, the rain came. At first it was so light that my moisture-starved cheeks, uplifted to the sky for several minutes, remained dusty with ash. I danced barefoot anyway on the barely-perceptible wet deck by the wan light of dawn.
Then it came again under the cover of nighttime. As I slept, dreaming a fitful barrage of disturbing stories, the rain arrived a bit weightier, a bit steadier. It stayed, a very welcome guest, cleaning out the wind-driven ash
the hazardous particles in the air
the angst that had been brewing.
And I awoke to the possibility of renewal, of replenishment – inner and outer.
She continued off and on for days: cleaning out dry corners of the yard, wetting the forest floor under even the thick-canopied areas, singing her siren’s song to the fat slugs who had been sheltering in hidden nooks under the dying stems in my lily garden.
One mostly-sunny day this week, the strong breeze ushered in a tiny burst of rain that dampened the grass and hushed the birds.
I was hopeful when one particular shower came, imagining a day of rain-listening, scent-seeking, pearlescent-drop photographing, wet-toed hiking. Though the shower ceased (as they do), my hope remained.
Downpour to Sprinkle
As I sit hugging the window and typing this rain-narrative, the sixty-minute downpour that I have been relishing suddenly ceased. In its stead came a calm, then a sprinkle.
Torrents to Deluge
These will come, eventually. By the time they do, we will all be well-soaked with the glories of autumn, wrapped in layers against colder days, cozying in near the hearth of flame and family. And I will rejoice even as I slip my thick-socked feet into calf-high rainboots and my arms inside my still-damp winter raincoat.
I know the rain isn’t everybody’s greatest love. My neighbors and loved ones are already bracing themselves for a long, wet winter; steeling themselves against puddles and wet fur, sunless days and chill-induced jaunts. We have felt the rain growing in intensity over the week.
But the rain carries blessings: quenching parched body and soul, nourishing the land, cleansing and clearing, opening our hearts to clarity, and strengthening our resolve to do good.
Hope is like this too: starting small, swelling over time, refreshing and emboldening us.
I can hold the hope for my people when they shrink back. And I will dance for all of us through rubies of rain, season after season…