A rare occurrence happened here in the desert today. It thundered and rained, for hours, at times downright pouring moisture from the sky. Several times I found myself drawn to the window, to listen to the thunder, to watch the drops falling, and to listen to the sound as they made impact with the roof of this house. My house, my home of 20 years. It probably be the last time that I’d hear this sound within these walls. I paused to take it all in, I wanted to remember the feeling.
I was thinking about how much I love the rain. From the sound, the cleansing metaphor of the landscape and the fragrant smell of wet sagebrush. How much I love to hike in a gentle mist, remembering the feeling of peace and serenity. It wasn’t long until I realized that it was that very feeling I was missing and yearning for. There hasn’t been much peace lately and listening to the rain falling took me back in a way, sorting what’s important, reminding me of who I am. Not that it all could be summed up in a thunderstorm.
It made me think of Germany where rain is in abundance. I remembered my time there and enjoying the mid summer showers that never lasted too long but cleaned the air, washing all the troubles away, even if just for a little while.
Physically, I felt strong today. The barometric pressure broke with the storm moving through and so did my pain levels. I was still fighting the fatigue and my body was still tired, but I didn’t feel super achy which makes all the difference.
On the Homefront, we were on a need to speak basis and a few uglies surfaced last night. “The tongue has no bones yet it is strong enough to break a heart.” And this is exactly what happened last night. It’s amazing how many times this old heart has broken already. You’d think there is nothing left to break, and yet the daggers still get through and hit like a bullseye right in the middle. I know it is because you are fighting your own battles and because you are afraid. And still, it’s not a comfort for me nor a consultation for you. These words linger and they have for years. These words, spoken in anger or fear are impossible to take back. We have reached the point where an apology does no longer suffice.
Here I am, standing at the window, remembering a book titled to welcome the rain. A title meant to remind me to dance in the rain, to jump in the puddles, to embrace the pain. To not mind getting wet and soaked, to let it wash away the tears and worries for awhile. I hope it will rain for quite some time yet.