#100Poems: Number Nine

“Rain, rain, go away,”
said the little boy.

Harrumph went the old man.
“It’ll just come back another day.”

Writing Prompt: Let’s talk about the weather

This week’s writing prompt with my class is about the weather. You know, that thing we so often use for small talk. But the weather seems to be at the forefront of every conversation this week. The northeast is getting pounded with snow once again, and locally, we’re under the threat of freezing rain, which is one of the worst things that can happen in the South, next to tornadoes. All in all, it stinks to be outside wherever you are. Unless, of course, you are in South Florida. Or some other warm climate.

So this week, write about the weather. Tell us what kind of weather you enjoy.

I love the rain. Even now, that the temperature is below freezing and I can hear the gritty sound of frozen rain hitting the windows, I like it.

There’s something about the overcast days, with the dark gray clouds and the chill in the air that speaks to me in a comforting way. Now, I do like sunny days. I enjoy the sunshine and cool breeze of spring, the heavy heat and burning sun of summer. I even like snow. Especially if I’m a tourist.

But rain. Rain. It soothes me. Inspires me. Calms me. Makes me want to take a nap.

When we lived in Miami, my husband and I used to sit on our back porch and watch the storms coming in off the Everglades. Those were the epic storms. They rose up gently with heavy black clouds. Everything about them was larger than life, monstrous. These storms moved slowly, so it seemed like they were constantly building energy, and they usually brought lots of thunder and lightning along with it. Those were the storms that lasted all day. It was perfect for porch-sitting, coffee-drinking, spending time with your lover deep in conversation storm-watching.

If the rain came from the east, from the ocean, they were different. These were usually sudden showers although every once in a while they’d bring some thunder and lightning, too. Mostly, though, these storms blew by quickly, the clouds spreading out and thinning until the sun came back out and dried up everything. Those were the rainstorms that came and went, leaving no evidence. They were fun, too. Great for running and playing in the rain, or just keeping an eye out for the end, after everything was refreshed.

These days the rain bring a more somber mood, and I’m ok with that. It chills me, and that just gives me the perfect excuse to make something hot to drink, maybe coffee, maybe tea. Maybe some rich hot chocolate. I’ll inevitably find my way to a cozy spot next to my husband and cuddle under a shared blanket to read a book or talk.

Plus, puddles. What’s not to love?

gone, but not forgotten…a weekly photo challenge

Screen Shot 2014-12-06 at 3.59.45 PMI woke up this morning to the delicious sounds of rain — the steady beating of drops on my roof — and the counterbeat of the runoff hitting the roof over the basement door. It was so soothing, so hypnotic that I rolled over and went back to sleep.

The rain continued through the morning into the early afternoon, and then it stopped.

The sun came out to play after that, and the rain was gone, but not forgotten. Big fat drops remained, decorating the yard with beautiful gems of water with sunlit highlights.

Isn’t that like the people we love? They come into our lives and water us, and even when they’re gone, a part of them remains with us.

what’s a little mud among friends

I took this picture in the chapel, where I promised to bring several intentions this morning. It was dark and I lit the first candle.

I left the house in a giant rainstorm, and for the first hour here in the chapel, I could see the driving rain through the big picture window behind the altar. At  mid-morning the gray sky and some ominous black clouds dimmed the light inside, and muted the green of the trees outside.

As I was praying the sorrowful mysteries, I kept looking over the tree tops to see if the rain would stop so I could catch a glimpse of a rainbow. The rain continued to fall, and I found myself fingering the silver beads to a musical beat from the rain dripping off the eaves.

It was hypnotic and oddly comforting, like a heartbeat providing a steady soundtrack for my prayers. The rain eventually slowed down to a gentle shower, like it had spent itself in a passionate outburst. Having calmed down and recovered, it was getting down to the business of reviving all the parched trees and grass.

I couldn’t wait to go outside later and see how lush and refreshed everything would be. It’s like the earth is renewed and we’re given a new playground to begin again.

Yes, Margaret, I played in the mud, too.

a rainy day poem

The rain always reminds me of you.

Its soft patter
against the window
leaves a trail down
the glass that stands
in stark relief against
the dust and grime
accumulated over time.

Its path, not quite straight,
meanders steadily on
the course and
arrives gently
on the ledge.

The rain in Spain falls gently on the plain…

…except in Georgia.

In Georgia, Mother Nature has opened a can of whoop-a$$ and the rain is pounding us hard. Tornado watches and warnings, flash flood warnings, and wind advisories are the backdrop to the late afternoon and evening.

Here’s the thing: I love it!

I love rain — especially storms. I love the ocean when it is violent and churning. I love thunderstorms with lots of lightning. I love to watch the wind make the tall pines in our backyard sway back and forth.

I am sick. But I can’t help it. If it wasn’t for the obvious danger to life and property I’d wish for storms all the time.

So what is it about storms that attract me? I don’t know. I mean, I’m loud, but essentially mild-mannered. Remember the dinosaur from Disney’s Toy Story? I don’t like confrontation, either.

Maybe that’s why I like the storms — maybe I’m just living vicariously — dangerously — in a storm.


Maybe I just see the beauty in it.

This painting of a road in a small village as an ominous storm approaches hangs in my living room. It is an oil painting by a Cuban artist, Edelmira Villar. I don’t know what became of her. She was a friend of the family’s, and I enjoyed going to visit her because she always had some new exciting project to share.

She suffered from manic painting episodes, and this particular painting was going to be trashed when my parents rescued it. They gave it to me some years ago. I don’t think many people like it which is too bad. This photograph doesn’t capture the darkness rolling in because I couldn’t avoid the light bouncing off the oil (hmmm, ponder that!). Anyway, evidently this painting affects me differently.

It’s beautiful.