Something about the smell of rain, the low rumbles of heaven, and raindrops disturbing puddles inspires me to write, to be. The rain is smacking the tarp we use to cover our bikes and it reminds me of all the camping trips that were visited by falling water. There was the time we were hiking in Montana and were attacked by a mountain storm complete with lightning and hail--and believe me, getting pelted with hail while wearing a tank top is not a pleasant experience. There was the time we set up camp in the unbeknownst lowest part of the campground only to experience the scariest thunderstorm of my life--the lightning was so close, the thunder roared at the same time it lit the sky--and to later discover that our camper had become an island.
But today, the storm is different, is calm and soothing, like those CDs that lull you to sleep. Today the thunder rumbles just often enough to remind you that it's there, the rain drips off the tree twigs in little reflecting balls, and the air has the greenish hue that means it's spring.
The moment the rain began, I stepped onto my porch and let the drops decorate my hand. Cold and fresh. Just like the refreshing showers on humid Florida days. Florida was so strange sometimes. It would be bright and sunny on our side of the street but raining at our neighbor's house. We could even see the line on the road where the raincloud ended and the sun began. And the rain came quite often, sometimes even on a schedule. About 3:00 in the afternoon, when the humidity was at it's highest, the moisture would turn to rain for ten minutes or so before allowing the sun to return to its reign. That's definitely something I miss about that place, the common rainstorm. Minnesota doesn't experience nearly enough of them. At least not the harmless ones. The good ones here often include clouds swirling in intricate patterns and the sky turning green, which is, of course, very impressive (and entices me to go outside and take pictures) but also very dangerous (which, I admit, is the real reason I go outside).
But, as I said earlier, today is not one of those violent days. And since it's not, I will stand out on my porch and watch the water stream down the road in gullies, listen to tires squish on the pavement, and smell the color green. Oh spring, how I love thee.
I remember when I was a kid, rains storms were exciting. At night when a storm came through Mom and Dad would send us off to bed to watch the free light show outside our window. I would lay their and wait for every flash of lightning then start counting 1/1000, 2/1000 until the sound of thunder could be heard so I would know if the storm was just arriving or leaving!
ReplyDeleteI also remember after rain storms us neighbor kids would race out to the ravine to dam up the rusing run-off. We called ourselves the South St Paul Corps of Engineers! I remember the dams we built were works of art! Then at the end of the day we would crush the dams and watch the water rush to the sewer! If only I was a kid again.
Heidi, you write so poetically. You see beauty in the little things and capture the moments in words so perfect, with imagery so vivid, that I feel I am right there with you. Plus, your title to this post is absolutely great. :)
ReplyDeleteI really miss a good rainstorm. It seems the past two summers have been sadly missing something essential. Waking up with a start in the middle of the night to a near lighting strike, and rain pouring so hard you can hardly see your neighbor's house getting torn apart. The Minnesota storms exhibit at the MN History center has made me nostalgic for something that I haven't seen or heard since the sultry summers of my youth.
ReplyDeleteJosh - I LOVE that exhibit! I remember a couple summers ago when I had my internship at the History Center, a "severe" thunderstorm trundled through St. Paul, and to escape, the other intern and I went down to the tornado show. It was fun. :) (The thing I really like about that show is that the effects of the tornado crashing through the house is purely sound media. So great.)
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