Rain

Rain among other things is heavy and loud and wet.





Approaching rain in the country is smelled as well as announced by the sound coming through a field or a copse of trees in a wood. In the city rain is not heard until it arrives.

One day this week after some time of dryness, rain fell just as I left the front door. As I pulled on socks and tied my shoes I had put the ear buds in for the iPod, so instead of rain I heard a poem read by Garrison Keeler. Stepping out the door turning to lock up, I stepped from under the roof into sprinkling rain. I walked to the garage and stood just inside the door watching as that little bit of rain tuned into a downpour. I’ve heard rain and thunder and lightening described in mythological ways; thunder was God bowling or lightening was anger being thrown and rain was water poured from a bucket onto the earth.

Rain in summer is welcomed to satiate a thirst.

That morning I was accompanied by hard rain. Into and out of buildings, the rain seemed to slow when I was under cover. Out the door of the mall or the post office, it started again dampening me and beating onto the truck so hard it filled my ears with its sound. I stopped for gas putting in my usual ten gallons. All the while the rain fell onto the asphalt outside the metal cover at the pump. I pulled into the bank drive-in up close to the window and my favorite teller called my by name remarking on the rain.

I arrived home again and put the truck in the garage. When I again stood at the garage door the downpour had become a gentle sprinkle. I walked over to the door and as I unlocked the rain stopped.