Rain

I started out with lots of coffee this a.m. I didn't get to sleep until after five this morning. It happens sometimes—I just am not sleepy. So I slept until 10:00, and chugged coffee. Now I'm drinking Twinings Lady Grey tea.

Lady Grey is similar to Earl Grey tea. They both have lemon, lime, orange, and bergamot flavorings, but the bergamot is much lighter in Lady Grey. Bergamot is a citrus fruit that is kind of a cross between a lemon and grapefruit. Its juice isn't used much, but the oil from the peel has a distinct aroma and flavor, and it's bergamot that makes these teas unique.

My mug today is beige and has a dot matrix map of the world, with the native words for "coffee" printed over the different countries.

Today's quote:  "Criticism, like rain, should be gentle enough to nourish a man's growth without destroying his roots." –  Frank Howard Clark

Rain

After several days of rain, rain, and more rain, the sun is finally shining again. We had hail and rain, and high winds and rain, thunder and lightning and rain… The sump pump has really had a work out the past couple of weeks.

I love rain. I love storms. I love sitting on the glider on the porch and watching storms, especially summer storms.

When I was a child, we would often visit our cousins in southern Kentucky for long summer weekends. It was a small town and we ran through the countryside without fear, and our parents felt comfortable letting us roam at will.

We would usually start out right after breakfast, and wouldn't return to my cousin's house until about noon, when we were starving. After lunch we ran off again. Our time was spent exploring the fields and ponds and even the graveyard, where we would read the sentiments on the gravestones.

But many afternoon's, about two o'clock, a soft summer rain would start. We would run back to the house and sit on their porch glider, watching the rain fall and the lightning streak, and counting the seconds between thunderclaps. "One one thousand, two one thousand…" That glider, and those summer afternoons, were where I came to love storms.

During a storm I can see the wind as it moves through the trees, and watch it push leaves, twigs, and other items across the pavement in the street in front of my house. The trees bob up and down, leaves fly through the air, and rain makes an unending flow of patterns in the ebb and flow of the capricious wind.

I love the loud, crashing claps of thunder and the streaks of lightning that zoom across the sky. I love the storm clouds as they gather, as they clump, as they darken, and then disperse as the storm passes.

I love the rain as it falls in a soft mist, as it drizzles, as it comes down in fat drops, and as it pelts the world in furious water bullets. I love it as it bounces off the pavement, as it sparkles like diamonds under street lamps, and as it softens the world as if looking at everything through a camera filter. I even love sleet and hail, as long as I can watch it from behind the safety and warmth of a window.

I love the way the world gleams and shines after a storm. The way beads of water set daintily on rose petals and leaves. The way they punctuate the delicate threads of a spider's web.

And then there's the rainbow—the prism of bent light that spreads its beautiful colors across the sky. It was God's covenant with Noah, but it's our consolation prize for either enduring the storm or mourning its passing, depending on our point of view. It's the anticlimax to the light and water shows we're treated to for free.

What I don't love is the smell of earthworms after the storm, or trying to walk across concrete where their swollen, water-saturated bodies lie dormant. Even worse is when the sun dehydrates them, and then their flat, dried bodies lie baking on the sidewalk. Ewww!

Sometimes, when I see a live one wiggling, trying hard to reach the grass, I'll take a twig (I can't stand to touch an earthworm with my hands) and help it on its way. I can't save them all, but I try to save the ones that are fighting to survive.

I wrote a poem I titled "Summer Storm" when I was in high school:

One raindrop chases another down my windowpane.

Soon they come in hordes, descending from the darkening sky

In numbers known only by God.

Thunder rumbles through charged air,

Sounding like the grumbling of a giant hungry beast.

Lightning illuminates its own broken path

To the earth below,

Like rays erupting from a magician’s fingers.

Wind whips itself into a frenzy,

Angrily thrashing the limbs of the trees in its fury.

But soon enough, it’s over.

The lightning’s power wanes

As the thunder loses its courage,

And the wind pretends it never lost its temper.

A soft summer rain continues to wash the world

Until the dirt is gone, and only stains remain.

Now a solitary raindrop

Holds to my soffit, trying not to fall.

But its own weight becomes too much

And it falls.

A hidden bird sits in a tree and sings,

As if to announce, it’s over.

Only then does the sun

Swagger from behind sullen clouds

And shout its warmth at the world.

So how do you feel about storms? Do they frighten you? Thrill you? Are they something you enjoy, or simply endure? If you usually just endure them, then the next time you have occasion to be in one, look closer. There are beauties and surprises awaiting you. At least try to enjoy it, a little. I believe you will be rewarded for your efforts.

As usual, heave a great day, and God bless you.