Wednesday, 12 June 2013
Thoughts on rain . . . .
“The rain to the wind said,
You push and I'll pelt.'
They so smote the garden bed
That the flowers actually knelt,
And lay lodged . . . though not dead.
I know how the flowers felt.”
It had to happen . . . after about a week and a half of sunshine, the rain has arrived. I shan't complain. The garden needs it. Tis why this country is so green and lush . . . this infernal rain Ahh . . .that it were like Camelot and only rained at night, but this is real life and not a dream . . .
My first year here in the UK, it rained every day . . . I kid you not. I believe at that time they were calling it the wettest autumn/winter/spring/summer on record. There was massive flooding all over the country. We got through it though and have survived a few more seasons of the same, with the same accolades as being the wettest whatever . . . I love that about the British. They give everything a title of import . . . it's the wettest this or the coldest that . . . the dryest ever, etc.
In the year 2000 I learned that people don't actually melt in the rain.
As a child I had spent many, many rainy days with my face pushed up against the glass of the windows in our home with a heart filled with longing. Rainy days were so boring. There was nothing to do, and unless it was very warm along with the rain . . . we were not allowed outside. I don't know why . . . I suppose there was a somewhat irrational fear of us getting a chill and pneumonia if we dared to venture out and play in it.
My sum total of experience was splashing in the puddles on my way to school . . . for school mustn't be missed, rain or no . . .
Of course we wore galoshes . . . there was no fun of bare feet in puddles to be had. Our stockinged and shod feet were stuffed into galoshes that were very difficult to remove without the shoes coming with them. They were plastic and see-through and folded closed with a button and an elastic closure . . . there were no fancy rain boots, coloured with images of flowers and such . . . or if there was . . . I had never seen them.
Just as well really, for I doubt my parents could have afforded "fancy smanchey" . . .
Rain always came garnished with longing . . . a yearning for something else, someplace else . . . feeling bored and wanting something to do. There were indoor games and outdoor games . . . and indoor games were not half as much fun as the outdoor games . . .
We only had two or three channels on the television and children's programming was only happening for about an hour or so early in the morning, or on Saturday mornings . . . you might have a cartoon or two or three then . . . other days we were left to our own devices and had to make our own fun . . .
Board games, crayons, books . . . and longing . . .
"Some people feel the rain, others just get wet".
I remember being caught up in a sun shower one day though . . . and it was mesmerizing and exhilarating. I stood beneath the eaves of the garage . . . dry . . . whilst the sun shone brightly and just inches away from my face rain fell in such a deluge that . . . it roared . . . and bounced back up off the pavement in tall sploshes . . .
I stuck my hand out to catch it . . . and it pelted down on my fingers, tickling . . .
And then I got brave and decided to taste it . . . it tasted like . . . rain
I remember the smell of pavement which had recently been hot and smelling like sunshine . . . now wet . . .
and smelling like damp earth. A much nicer smell than the rusty smell of a wet wire window screen . . .
And then as soon as it had started . . . it was finished and the pavement began to dry . . . and before you knew it you could barely tell that it had rained at all . . .
Except for the rare jewel collected and nestled in the petals of a flower or leaf . . . or clinging to a blade of grass, small droplets here and there . . . gathered and filling little fairy buckets.
Magic . . . pure and utter magic.
Oh rain which joins the sky and earth . . . and knits the two together . . .
Joy comes in seeing the wonder of it all, and embracing it for what it is.
Stew or soup tastes better when rain is pelting down, and blankets comfort in a special way. Books . . . likewise.
A thought to carry with you through today . . .
“Rain drops are not the ones who bring the clouds.”
Baking in The English Kitchen today . . . a tasty Courgette & Oat Loaf.
I wish for you a wonderful Wednesday!