Tuesday, March 2, 2010
After the Rain
I woke up to the delicious, patter-y sound of rain this morning—half an hour before my alarm was set to go off. Instead of feeling cheated of that last half hour of sleep, I curled up under my warm covers and listened to the sounds of raindrops falling on our roof and shrubs, and the distant booming of thunder. I imagined my tomato plants, purchased yesterday, drinking up the rainwater, and the purple and orange violas that were an impulse buy, lifting their tiny faces to the drops. I wished that my orchids were out in the rain, but they’ve been hanging out inside recently because of the cold (pampered creatures). I imagined our frost-bitten grass and all the recently-pruned landscape plants thirstily drinking in the rain. Rainwater seems like it would be so much tastier to plants than our city water is—I can’t drink the water from the tap without filtering it first!
Now the rain has stopped, but the wind has picked up. Our oak trees’ beards of Spanish moss flutter in the breeze. Pollen counts have been really high recently, driving the allergic among us (including our dog) into fits, and the rain has washed the yellow pollen off driveways and mailboxes.
The air is bright and clean today—and I feel the same. Yesterday was a difficult day. But instead of flying off the handle emotionally, I allowed myself to feel my emotions without stifling them, to realize that the issues in question were not necessarily my issues, and that I didn’t have to take on the burdens other people were bearing. I have my own burdens, of course, but they’re wearing lightly on me at the moment. It’s OK for me to enjoy my life, to find fulfillment and satisfaction in my work and play. I can let the rain and storm go on around me while I stay cozy beneath my covers. After the rain, the natural world emerges renewed—and so can I.