Photo by ToniVC
We’ve had our first full days of real sunshine here in the Northwest. The thermometer actually pegged 85 today.
I disregarded my Daddy’s old advice to wait until the oak leaves were as big as a squirrel’s ears and I planted corn. Actually, I planted everything. I put in a big garden as a hedge against the economy.
While I’m writing this in the thin hours of the morning, a familiar whisper makes me pause and listen.
Rain.
My friend from the Osage Nation would call this steady patter a “female” rain. It’s comforting in its scent and sound. I can recall many nights outdoors and drifting to sleep with the rhythm of raindrops tapping my tent.
I’m sure I can hear the seeds I just planted, awakening and stretching roots into the earth.
There’s something about a gentle rain.
It’s what hope sounds like.
That rain was the kind I like–smart enough to come at night. I still got a little soggy from the soaked plants I had to deal with the next morning, but at least I didn’t get rained on. I’ve had enough of that this spring.
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You’re an artist with a writer’s brush. No gentle rain here today. 85˚and I just finished mowin’ the back yard. Phew! Hot, but feels good. Have a great day.
~ Les
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I heard the rain as well and it was rather soothing for me. It sang me to sleep with its rhythm.
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A nice, gentle, soothing rain…something that doesn’t happen very often here.
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This is poetry. Every sentence evokes visions.
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Lovely thoughts! Thanks for sharing!
Mary
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