Rains

The rains came last night.

I awoke around 00:30, whether from the sounds of the winds howling by or subconsciously knowing that when the rains were supposed to hit (thank you, weather.com). I came downstairs and stepped out the front door. No rain yet, but the Western sky traveling away down the street was lit up like the Western front, blasts of light peppering the housetops.

Within 10 minutes the rain came. First you wonder if it has started; you listen and hear the sound of the chimney cap being pelted and you know that it has come. I checked outside on the back porch: the white limestone slowly becomes spattered with rain until the entire porch reflects back wet light in the storm.

Rains are different here. In Old Home, rains were something to be enjoyed from indoors, carefully by a fire. Here, rains are to be enjoyed perhaps from inside, but perhaps from a covered area or even out in it. Standing under the porch, watch the midnight lightning light up the ground at moments to the point of daylight, the growl of thunder provides a constant backdrop of sound as the oaks whip their branches hither and yon.

If one listens carefully, one can almost hear the parched ground sighing in relief. It's been two months since any rain at all and almost eight months since a significant rain. I am sure that out there in my lightning-lit garden, my plants and seedlings are standing there, leaves outstretched, drinking in the clean rainwater.

Like most other things, there is a down side to this much needed refreshment: the humidity once the sun comes up will be hideous. And oddly enough, barring any other rain, within 2 hours of sunrise you'll scarcely be able to tell that any rain fell beyond the damp ground beneath the grass.

That's okay. The rain will be where it needs to be - in the ground: a sky-sent treasure hidden away; lightning and thunder and winds made solid; a God given provision to His creation which so desperately needs it.