Day is rubbing its eyes awake. I am sitting on a bench on the balcony over looking my gardens and the lake. I cannot imagine at the moment a more perfect setting to watch the rain. There’s a lovely breeze. No stifling hot sticky humidity to chase me inside. Rumbling boulders in the sky are like a rock slide I cannot see, and I am safe from being crushed. My plants are spilling with happy growth onto each other and over their borders. A white heron is flapping its full wingspan over the lake. I wonder does he like the rain or wish for the shelter of home? His white feathers are the only bright spot in the dull gray landscape. A younger me would take a soaking stroll.
As it rains harder the noise of crashing water against hard and soft surfaces escalates into a white noise that bumpers my thoughts from escaping the moment I am occupying. All I can think is to either curl up with a book or allow myself to be lulled to sleep.
The lake looks like coarse blue sandpaper for all its deep water pocks made by the pelting rain. My plants wiggle and dance under the force of rainfall. Puddles are accumulating in the low spots. It is louder than the cars passing by. I feel the thunder reverberate in my chest. I feel my hair coil up soft and frizzy around my face. I’m holding back an urge to run out and stomp in the puddles, catch rain in my mouth and be bathed from the sky. Why am I so grown up at a moment like this? I can’t remember why exactly.
Lucy’s toy is embedded in the grass, I have to lean over the railing to be sure it’s not a coiled snake taking a bath. If it were I’d have to awake the sleeping warriors in my home to go end its life. I wouldn’t feel bad afterwards. I never invited them to my eden.
A single bird is on my railing, under cover, singing. I love her orange breast and sharp shrill voice. I wonder if she is bragging that she’s got the courage to come close to the human and find shelter. I whisper thank you to her for her courage and her song. It’s a good day for being thankful, for dreaming, wondering and feeling alive.
Lucy has found me. She curls up at my feet after taking a full body rub from me. She watches the rain too. She likes to be where I am. I memorize the color green under the dim light. A dull green landscape is even more pleasing than a brown landscape under bright sun. This thought has me missing the desert. If only there were a great ridge of mountains soaring above the trees kissing the clouds and sheltering our home, then this would be HOME. But this is not really home. It’s just a resting spot on a far more interesting journey that will continue forward when the time is right. I’m not afraid of change. I welcome adventure…..maybe I will take that soaking stroll…
“Mom! what’s for breakfast….”
Right…now I recall what made me behave all grown up…maybe one of them will ask me to go puddle jumping…