Let it Rain

The storm had hit. She sat outside watching the lightening flashes bounce off the tin fence, hearing the rumble of the thunder getting closer, reveling in the sound of the rain against the patio roof as she sat huddled against the cool air. The smell of the damp earth evoking memories, the moistness settling around her. The thunder crackling and rumbling all around, sending the dogs into a frenzy, chasing something they couldn’t catch.

The lightening flashed again illuminating the garden shed at the bottom of the garden for a few seconds and every horror movie scene of a stormy night that she’d ever seen came to mind….a creature sitting on the roof illuminated ever so briefly and then gone. A homicidal axe wielding maniac lurking.  The shadows revealing strange shapes that made the hairs on her arms lift.

The rain was getting heavier now and she was loving it. She was a self confessed pluviophile, even more so now living in a tropical climate where months would pass without any rain at all. The rain and the storms became an event, and here she sat with her dogs watching the show unfold around her.

She remembered even as a child running to the wood shed at the bottom of the garden to sit and watch the rain fall. Another dog by her side, she could sit and watch and listen to it for hours. It soothed her then, giving her a sense of peace and tranquility, and it soothed her now.

The thunder was getting louder, closer, and the lightening strikes more frequent. The palm trees around the house were silhouetted against the strobe light effect of the sky as the wind made a late arrival.

The rain was cleansing, the world softening as the dust and grime of the day washed away, a perfect renewal. She could hear the different sounds from the raindrops as they landed, the pitter patter on the roof, the splash in the pool, the rhythmic thud as it hit the deck, the ting against the tin fence. It was music to her ears.

And yet as quickly as the storm arrived it was now easing away. The rain welcome, the drop in temperature equally so. With the storm moving away now she prepared for bed, knowing the hum of the gentle rain that remained would lull her to sleep.

I hear leaves drinking rain;

I hear rich leaves on top

Giving the poor beneath

Drop after drop;

‘Tis a sweet noise to hear

These green leaves drinking near.

William Henry Davies 1871-1940