It’s 6 p.m. and I’m alone at the “cottage” (as we call our
teeny tiny house that is a second home in Wisconsin) with my sweet boy Bud, not
Buddy. It’s been raining and raining all day, and I cannot tell you how
wonderful the sound is. I can hear it on the roof, on the porch as it streams over
the plugged-up gutter (poor Joe just HATES that!), and ting- tangeling on the
window a.c. I can’t remember the last time I was able to just sit quietly and
listen to the rain! It was probably on the front porch at home, most likely
with Luna sitting between my feet on the footstool.
I’d like to say the sound brings back memories, but it’s
more like sensations…a sense of warmth, of snuggling, of rest. Why do so many people
dislike rainy nights, I wonder? Is it loneliness, perhaps a wistful longing for
someone to share the night with? Does the rain bring melancholy and thoughts of
so many regrets? Or is it just another thing to worry about—did I roll up my
windows? Damn, I didn’t clean out the gutters yet! Oh, crap, my newspaper’s out
there getting soaked! Geeze, how much more rain will the ground absorb? Or the more social justice minded: “Oh, those
poor people who have nowhere to go!”
And still, here I sit…mellow, with a Mona Lisa
smile as I just soak in (pardon the pun) the song of the rain. My heart and my
worried mind are eased with its cadence, my sore muscles seem to loosen at its
wordless song of peace.
