A Rainy Day

 It is a Day of Rain.

Rain is not unknown this late in the year at The Ranch - even as it is not expected every year at The Ranch.  Some years it happens, some years it does not.  It is just called "climate" and is the natural way of things (last year, for example, there was little rain in April.  Years before, there have been "Miracle Marchs").

The rain here is the rain of my childhood, days of rain that comes misting or dropping down over the course of hours - perhaps interrupted for periods only to return for a period before it drifts off at it makes its way to some other location. Like New Home, there can be short bursts of intense rain; unlike New Home, the sun will like not make a reappearance after that day.

When rains, it is inevitably cold.  There is none of the "warm rain" nonsense that we found such a surprise when we relocated to New Home.  Even the very occasional thunderstorm that we receive in Summer will have a hint of coolness about it.

I have always been a lover of Winter and Rain as my most favorite of seasons - not for the cold, of course - of that I am not a fan.  I cannot fully tell you why.  Part of it is just the spectacle of sitting at a window and watching the rain fall and dance across the landscape - when I was growing up, I would watch it out the larger window in my bedroom across the neighbors field and over to their house, watching it down the leaves and tree-trunks and bend the grasses with the weight of the drops.  True as well, as a reader growing up (and still as a reader) rain always indicates the justifiable ability to read as "not a lot can be done in the wet" (it can, of course, and I am only really making excuses for myself, but it is at least a factor).

And the Rain is an audible companion - unlike the wind which creaks the branches and trees, rain moderates its patter on the roof or gurgles as it makes its way down the gutter and drain pipe into the places it goes.  It is a pleasant and cheerful sort of sound, and makes a delightful counterpoint to interior activities (like, for example, reading).

I suppose in the back of my mind as well, I give thanks for the Rain as it falls.  Not one place I have ever lived has ever suffered from too much rain (on a regular basis anyway), and I am all too aware of the impact this rain will have here.  Badly parched earth will be reborn with moisture and grasses and wildflowers; the frogs and turtles rejoice and the polliwogs unknowingly celebrate the fact that their "world" will exist until they can scramble away;  some portion of the trees that were possibly on the edge from the heat and drought last year will get the boost they need to continue on.  The cattle at The Ranch may very well feed on green forage until June, which is often the case.

It makes me wonder how modern Western civilization is enamored of the appearance and reappearance of the Sun and heat - important times indeed, those - and does not have the same celebration of Rain and the cold.  For us in our modern world, the Sun represents the ability to go out and do things and entertain ourselves while Rain represents the cold and wet and lack of activities.  We do ourselves a disservice in this, I think, perhaps because now we are too far removed from the earth and world that supports us.  We have come to view the elements as things that are enablers of our entertainment, not our very lives.  And we are indeed the poorer for that.

The Rain, caring neither for the rise and fall of civilizations or my quaint enjoyment of it, continues to fall.