Rain...Beautiful Rain

We are sweltering away in 100 + degree heat and have been for days on end. Cris and I worked in the house doing a lot of cleaning, getting rid of lots of junk, and trying to get the house back to normal -- or as close to it as we can hope to get. Even working inside is hot. I've been covered in sweat most of the day and have taken two showers. I'm longing for cool weather -- and for rain; it's incredibly dry as well as hot. Even the kudzu that covers acres of Georgia roadside is turning brown and dying.

I was taking a look though old journals again and came across an entry that made me feel good. It's about rain.

____________________

Thursday, August 12, 2004 (around 10:20 a.m.)

There is rain today, lots of rain. The sky is an absolutely whitish-gray, and the trees across the street are muffled by a watery gray veil. I am sitting at the bedroom window facing the front yard with an open window before me. The sounds are wonderful – the loud continuous splash of water running off the house to my left, the lighter whir of rain on leaves and yard, and a backdrop of occasional distant muted bass crashes of thunder.

I left the lights off – I’m writing by the soft gray light slipping in through the window. I didn’t want the sharp white-yellow artificial incandescence to intrude. I need a little time with the rain and my memories. There is something about a solid rainy day that nudges gentle memories – memories of rainy days in other times and places.

Elizabeth is like me, she loves the rain. She is not here – she is in Howard with the Garcias. I wonder if she is enjoying the rain today.

Suddenly, I’m a little boy, standing on my knees on the settee, looking out through the rain across our little front yard, across the road, out across Mrs. Mamie Wynens property to the trees beyond. I am snug in a little gray-green world, nestled in the shadows in a secure place.

I am at Parris Island – Marine Corps boot camp. We are at the rifle range waiting to see if the rain will let up. It never does. We have on our green plastic ponchos, but we’re all pretty much soaked through. I’m snug in the rain. It makes the world almost sane again.

I lift my head and look out the window at one of the nandinas. I used to deplore these tacky bushes standing like stubborn guards in front of our house. Today, though, I look at the rain dancing with the leaves, the silvery light reflecting off the wet greenness, and I love this plant. It is suddenly beautiful.