I forgot at least half of what I was going to say because I came in from the rain and got sidetracked writing a never-to-be-sent letter and falling asleep on my notebook, but earlier we had a small surprise (to me) thunderstorm, and I stood outside in it getting wet and thinking about rain and wind and trees and seasons and how everything I freaking do when I'm acting consciously and not out of the heat or frost of emotion (and even some of what I do when I am) is about love. Wanting it, holding it, giving it, reaching for it or pushing it away. It seems to be the sun about which I fitfully orbit.
I went outside to close the car windows wearing the no shoes and the soccer shorts and tank top that seem to have become my uniform of late. I ended up squatting on my heels on our front walk and watching the newly fallen leaves gather tiny rain puddles while the grass and weeds and dirt soaked up the probably last warm storm of the summer. I watched cars drive by with their windows closed and headlights and wipers on in the glorious warm afternoon and not see me. I watched the trees stand planted, bowing their arms and raising their faces in gratitude to the rain. Eventually the raindrops gathered and ran down our street in warm rivers, or lay in small warm puddles in the empty driveway across the street. From there our house seems completely dwarfed by the pines and holly and poplar which tower over it, taller than any others on our block. It's funny to think of so much life happening in so small a space.
I thought also about the ways rain can feel. I mean, today I just wanted to stand in it and listen to the water falling and trees talking, thunder spreading across the sky and wind breathing through the trees, and feel the drops sliding down my face and trickling down my chest, and step on the wet grass and into the warm puddles and rivers. It felt like such a blessing. It reminded me of the feeling of a dam breaking, the feeling of a cleansing flood that I had once upon waking from a real night's sleep after weeks of insomnia. It felt like peace and breathing.
But other times, when I've been cold inside, I have stood in the rain wanting to be washed away, angry that the drops were so gentle. When I've been angry I have hated the peace of the summer rain. The spin put on the world by human emotion can be truly awe-inspiring.
*Blind Melon, "No Rain":
And all I can say is that my life is pretty plain. I like watching the puddles gather rain. And all I can do is just pour some tea for two, and speak my point of view, but it's not sane. I just want someone to say to me, "I'll always be there when you wake." You know I'd like to keep my cheeks dry today, so stay with me and I'll have it made. And I don't understand why I sleep all day, and I start to complain that there's no rain. And all I can do is read a book to stay awake, and it rips my life away, but it's a great escape...