"rain makes its own night." a long-ago line of poetry i think of every time i turn on the lamps at midday because of rain, which isn't that often in central texas. friends and bloggers northside are prone to complaining about wet weather, but each time they do i want to tell them how i long for those dark damp days, for the coziness they foster, how they slow everything down. today i am fortunate to enjoy the gray and quiet alone, my son at daycare, and so it's me and coffee and writing and the streaming sound of a steady soaking. god but we need it. after last year's devastating drought, and a mild and wet winter, we had a lush green spring. my eyes drank deep that rich green life everyday, hungrily, greedily, like someone would eat who new there soon would be no more food. lately the tall grasses have started to get that bleached blonde look, and i've begun to worry. fearful that everything would soon dry up and turn to powder, and what would I do with my toddler then, who loves to be outside more than anything, whose first official word "aht-side! aht-side!" he repeats all day like a mantra, like a most treasured wish, as he brings me his shoes? i've decided that i could stand the 100-plus days of 100-plus degree weather we got last year, and are likely to get this year, if there was some cool green grass to lay down in, to sprinkler-run on. maybe there will be. and now rain comes down slow and steady like an answered prayer. in two to three days the rain lilies will sprout up like a gesture of thanks, much more eloquent than any i could offer.
:: :: :: from the poem Rain Makes Its Own Night by Anne Michaels, from the book The Weight of Oranges/Miner's Pond.