Shouting in the Rain – Words of the Land

Ever been caught in the rain? It began to pour this afternoon as our landscaping crew finished up the last job of the day. Huge smiles, loud shrieks and laughs as the men ran for the vehicles, pelted and soaked. The trees were roaring in the wind as the lightning struck.

Water enlivens. A shower refreshes, a cold shower slaps you awake like nothing else. I’ve hiked in the rain for hours on end, run in downpours, biked through sudden showers, paddled in storms, even swum in the rain. At first I resist. Then I give in to the pure joy of the immersion, not just in the water, but in the world, in the spontaneous, fresh unstoppability of it. There’s raw magic in water, like baptism, which brings you intensely alive.

John Muir says, “A shower is always falling somewhere, vapor is ever rising. The dew is never dried all at once. Eternal sunrise, eternal sunset, eternal dawn and gloaming, on sea and continent and island, each in its turn as the round earth rolls.”

These spring rains just now are enormously welcome, healing after our dry, wrinkled winter. The land is sweet and plump again with fragrance; the plants visibly thrive. Humans sigh with relief.

You can stay inside. The sound of rain on the roof is nearly as entrancing, provides a comfort almost as satisfying. What better relaxation than to be at rest, immersed in writing or in a book as the rain steadily falls or washes in waves over the land outside your window? One’s world stops in a way. Nature asserts itself. The now is more present, or we are more present to the now.

Read this week’s poem, Illillouette Canyon