A few drops of rain spattered my face as I stepped out of the office today — the beginning of the great storm to come tomorrow. The night is calm, cool. You wouldn’t believe a massive storm system was about to roll in.
The news has been spouting about “storm watch 2014,” because tomorrow’s storm is supposed to be the biggest deluge since 2008, with heavy rain fall and strong winds. There could be power outages, fallen trees, and flash floods. There could be thunder and lightening (a rare occurrence).
As I wrote on Friday in honor of recent rains, mild in comparison to what is coming. My feelings are torn in regards to the storm. I love storms, love cuddling up safe inside and warm and watching lightening flash through the downpour. But I’m a little wary of commuting to work, as I’ll be heading home (very slowly) during what is supposed to be a peak of the storm.
All will be well, though, I’m sure. And I hope everyone stays safe on the roads tomorrow.
The rain has come at last. The parched, drought ridden earth is slippery with heavy rainfall, stirring up mud and sludge. Every morning this week, I have awoke in the dark to the sound water splattering outside my window. I step outside my front door and listen to the thrumming rhythms on my umbrella and feel happy.
When I was a little girl I used to run out into the rain in shorts and a tank top. I rode bicycles over the slick streets. I kicked puddles. I jumped in the mud. Gutters would gush water and I would stand under them as though I were a tourist under a waterfall in Hawaii. The water would soak through my clothes and drip down my hair. My shoes sloshed. I never shivered. I never shook. I danced in the rain and felt clean and free.
My niece has turned two and has evolved into a delightful princess monster (and all that that implies). We have to convince her to wear a coat in the rain (she wishes to escape wearing only a frilly dress). After the rain, she prances out to the driveway to stomp in puddles, little insignificant ones, with a smile like the first beam of sunlight through the clouds.
Later I tromp through the mud, following my niece to the tree swings. I pull her onto my lap and we swing together, while large drops fall on us from the tree above. We twist back and forth, the word rocking to and fro, just sitting together enjoying the quiet day as we watch the post-rain fog gather around the farmhouse.
Driving in California is the only thing I hate about the rainy season. Otherwise knowledgeable people forget how to drive as soon as the roads grow wet. It can take a week or more for them to grow used to it and for the level of car accidents to lessen, and by then the rains have gone.
I could live some place where the rain was rampant through many seasons. Seattle, maybe. Or perhaps a rain forest. The sound and rhythms of water emptied from the sky has always soothed me, and I find myself longing for rain after months and months of sun and heat.
Then again, maybe it’s the contrast, the absences of rain followed by its sudden heavy presence that confers the joy.