Right now I am waiting for yet another summer rain. They've been coming regularly this week, and all the signs are there. When it comes, I'll close the windows that need closing, make sure each cat has a comfy place to curl, and let myself drift into dreaminess and peace.
Summer rains have always been special, a short stay against time. People pause and watch them, in an indulgence that a cold rain doesn't get.
I have many warm-rain memories, from Mom letting us put on swimsuits and run around the yard during a storm (different times, young parents!) to getting drenched with my husband on a beach walk as a tropical low worked itself up to become a hurricane.
As a kid, I would either walk or sleep when the rain came. I took long walks, kicking along through puddles and dawdling past swelling streams - sometimes worrying my mother into driving around looking for me. Or I would pile the outdoor lounge-chair cushions on our roofed picnic table and curl up with my dog and a blanket to let the patter put me to sleep. (Years later, I reprised that cozy feeling under the house on North Caicos, curled with Kit in our boat.)
The best way to enjoy a summer rain is to be close to it, almost in it but protected by an overhang, an open shed, an umbrella or a tree with thick foliage. (Yes, I ignore those old admonitions about lightning and trees.) That's where you can experience the ambient mist, the waterfall wonder and the hushing of all other sounds. There's nothing to do but stop, look and listen. Life will go on, but not until the rain lets up.
Summer rains have always been special, a short stay against time. People pause and watch them, in an indulgence that a cold rain doesn't get.
I have many warm-rain memories, from Mom letting us put on swimsuits and run around the yard during a storm (different times, young parents!) to getting drenched with my husband on a beach walk as a tropical low worked itself up to become a hurricane.
As a kid, I would either walk or sleep when the rain came. I took long walks, kicking along through puddles and dawdling past swelling streams - sometimes worrying my mother into driving around looking for me. Or I would pile the outdoor lounge-chair cushions on our roofed picnic table and curl up with my dog and a blanket to let the patter put me to sleep. (Years later, I reprised that cozy feeling under the house on North Caicos, curled with Kit in our boat.)
The best way to enjoy a summer rain is to be close to it, almost in it but protected by an overhang, an open shed, an umbrella or a tree with thick foliage. (Yes, I ignore those old admonitions about lightning and trees.) That's where you can experience the ambient mist, the waterfall wonder and the hushing of all other sounds. There's nothing to do but stop, look and listen. Life will go on, but not until the rain lets up.
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