My feelings about the drops-that-fall-from-the-sky depend greatly on my surrounding climate. In Alaska, rain was the cold, slippery, evil enchantress that rose from the depths to ruin my love for the great northland. A soggy, dark, murky, frigid, evil water nymph she was. Yet in Madras, rain drops are a goddesses tears of joy feeding my thirsty garden with her laughter. Smiling, singing, skirt twirling, dancing bear-foot in lush green grass, wildflowers sprouting at her feet. Finally, I am re-falling in love with rain storms.
As a child in Georgia I danced in every downpour, cheering for the thunder & lighting. I would curl up in my bed at night and watch the streaks of light paint the sky through my window. The smell of rain was one of my favorite scents. Puddles were a plus! I loved that I wasn’t like all the other girls, scared of thunder’s booming claps. Nope, the stormy rain goddess was my friend.
During my teen years in Utah, rain was a thing longed for. Months would go by without a trace of her. I was lonely. She was the far away friend that I dreamed of, made wishes for. Then suddenly, often without warning, she graced me with a brief outpouring of affection, making the sagebrush sing, oh the smell of it all!, and I would cry tears of joy and write poetry detailing the beauty of the world. For a moment. Then she was gone, and I was a sullen teen in a dusty middle-of-nowhere desert town. Waiting for my friend.
Then came Alaska and our longstanding friendship turned sour. Alaskan rain clouds are vile, summer-sunshine-dream-sucking goblins that hover above like a menacing nightmare, always ready to douse my bonfire. Some years they kept at bay, teasing me with what summer weather should be, sunshine & flowers, but only for a month or two. Some years they held a tight reign and mushrooms began to sprout from everything and everyone. Damp, moldy, chilled-to-the-bone. Retreat to the beloved woodstove for much needed warmth and dry air. It was a battle, year after year, season after season. Winter rain meant icy roads, summer rain hid the sun. Plants need warmth and light to grow, children do too. Seasons blended and blurred and I found my self whirling and twirling, waiting, waiting, & waiting for the sun that could never seem to warm my bones.
And I realized that sun and rain are sisters in the merry-go-round of life, and I love the sun sister more. So I ran until I found sun again, and I made a new home. And I drank up the sun. She smiled on me and warmed me from the inside and i danced and sang and ate picnics beneath her lusty rays. Skin soaks up warmth and light, turns golden caramel brown. I’m in love with sunshine.
But what would sun be with our her sister rain? Parched, that’s what. Here, when rain falls I’m in love all over again. Desert Rain Goddess entices all…..sofly pattering, then the rumble of thunder & flash of light, cooling breeze against my skin, droplets on my face, inhale the freshness, the smell of earth coming to life. In the aftermath, flowers spring from the ground & bird song fills the air. Her visits are a joyous occasion for all.
Desert rain makes me sappy, as you can tell. It brings out the domestic goddess in me. Time to make a pot of soup, bake bread, and stew a pot of tea. I’m so happy we are friends again.
Forget not that the earth delights to feel your bare feet & the wind longs to play with your hair…. – Khalil Gibran