Oct 26, 2020
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 am. 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.