Most likely this is a post that only can be truly understood by those who must cherish their rain. Where I live, rain is rare enough that kids will run outside with light in their eyes exclaiming "It's raining it's raining . . ." Adults too . . . It will be common conversation . . . "Did you hear the rain last night?" Or we'll wake up in the middle of the night and ask "Is it raining?" It is not like we never get rain. During most winters we get our fair share. Every-so-often we will have what they call El Nino, which means we will have our share and a heavy bit more. I remember one El Nino year, when I was a kid, where we measured over eighty-inches. But on a whole, we have to wait months until the rainy season begins, and drought years test our memory of what wet weather feels like.
Last night, in the middle of the night, I heard rushing water. I immediately worried that one our our water-pipes had broken. It turned out to be our loud gutter, pouring water onto the ground at a rapid pace. Rain? Could it really be in since the last few days have pushed over eighty and perhaps even ninty degrees?
This morning I took my camera out and made my way around, inspecting the remains of moister
still on the plants . . .
The drops still on the leaves . . .
Clinging to the stems . . .
Dampening our decomposing clippings . . .
Entangled with cobwebs . . .
Amidst the curls of the passion fruit vine . . .
Holding on for dear life to the bottom of a tangerine . . .
Relaxing the parched Black Eyed Susan vine . . .
Preparing the Naked Lady Bulbs for their explosion . . .
Enrapturing the hibiscus blooms . . .
Reminding the laundry that it was once wet, and will be again . . .
I took in the dense smells of dampened manure, refreshed soil, cleansed air . . .
I felt revived by the stillness, and clicked picture after picture to savor each individual and every last drop.