Rain Storm

Less than a week ago a powerful storm called an atmospheric river drenched some parts of the Bay Area with a foot of rain over a 48-hour period. Where I live, we got about 8 inches according to national weather officials –though some local weather gauges measured 11 inches. Nearby the Russian River was once again rushing, if only for a few days.

I love hearing the rain. Born in Seattle, I used to say I grew up with webs between my toes. Only after I moved to California did I learn to expect (and love) blue skies most of the year. Nevertheless, rain has always comforted me, especially at night. Falling to sleep, windows always open, the sound of rain is like a lullaby to my soul. Until recently, drought-stricken California had offered no such emotional serenade for quite some time. I sorely missed it.

The rain fell steadily for hours. I opened both front and back doors and all my windows to let its earthy smell fill my home, shooing away any leftover flatness from too many arid days. My flowerbeds became puddles; the need to catch shower water in a bucket for now ended. Even with early reports that it was too much too fast my joy remained unhindered. Mentally I understood it meant disaster for some, but for the moment all I felt was relief.

Like so many others, my spirit has been inundated with angst and trepidation and sorrow for all the troubles our world faces daily on every level of existence. Consequently, I allowed this brief reprieve of unrelenting rain to simply fill me up and overflow into the parched places inside of me that needed the wetness of hope refreshed.

The drought has not ended, I know that. But for me the rain gave me a chance to catch my breath, to regenerate and reinforce my confidence in the abundance of life that is too often overshadowed by this world’s turmoil and the resulting anxiety we all feel. Before the rain came in torrents my landlord cleared our gutters that were filled with leaves and other debris. It was crucial to protect the structure of our duplex and prevent water damage. Accordingly, I am prompted to keep my mind cleared of the broadcast debris impeding the flow of harmony and openheartedness among so many of my fellow residents on this planet.

On the lighter side, a fun quote:

I’ve learned that you can tell a lot about a person by the way he/she handles these three things: a rainy day, lost luggage, and tangled Christmas tree lights. ~Maya Angelou