It finally rained.
I was waiting, wanting . . . it went from "that would be nice" to "gawd, I hope it rains." Yearning for the plants to drink from a source better than the hose. All the stuff of life the rain carries with it sliding down their petals, dripping into their roots--feeding them. The deep nourishment of moisture in the air. A respite from this heat that's robbed us of autumn. A few yellowing leaves and wilted flowers the only indicators that summer's passed. The first line of the monthly gardening newsletter for October read: "Well, it's still hot." Dousing the garden, sometimes twice a day, like it's August. Legit sweat beading my forehead at 9 a.m. I tried to wear a beanie, as if repping the appropriate fall attire would inspire the weather to catch up to its own season. No good. After suffering an hour of itchy forehead from sun-induced sweating, I ditched the beanie and heavily regretted wearing a long-sleeved shirt.
And then it rained.
I smelled the damp sifting through the window screens, lucid dreaming, both asleep and awake. Then the patter on the roof. Light, then drumming . . . downpour commence. A thrill shot through me to stay in bed, and listen. Let the water tap dance on our flat metal roof, enveloping our bungalow with liquid vibration. Move slow. Snuggle into a sweater. Stay inside. Pad around in pink socks pocked with bright green pickles. Drink tea. Spoon soup. Plus a piece of gluten free coffee cake, apple slices, celery sticks. Breathing deeper, pulling crisp air down my throat, wanting it to stay . . . knowing if it did, I'd crave heat again. And so it goes. The lack incites the spark--"that'd be nice." Longer lack ignites the yearning--"gawd, I hope . . . "
Then sometimes, when we've waited, and wanted, and lusted from the belly of our being . . . for relief, for respite, for cool refreshment to our spirit . . . sometimes, it finally rains.