A few days ago, I was weeding my vegetable garden when a storm moved in. It sounded like a large vehicle approaching, getting louder as it moved closer. The only weird thing was that it was moving in from the back corner of the pasture, over the top of the woods where no roads exist for vehicles to travel. I watched and listened as the storm moved up to and over me, first in small hesitant droplets, and then in heavy splashing drops of rain. I left my tools and started for the house, still on the edge of the storm and keeping pace with it as I walked. It didn't fully overtake me until I reached the carport. Then, as if to win in a game of tag, the storm reached ahead of me and began to pelt me with the heavy rainfall at the heart of the storm. I walked right through the house and out onto the covered deck where I could watch it and bask in its mist. The next day, I was weeding again when another rainstorm blew in. This one was not at all like the first. Instead of a steadily-moving storm, focused and directed, this rain began right overhead and around me, letting go a few hesitant drops here and there as if to try it out and see if it felt good. I sat on my weeding stool and contemplated whether to head for the house. I figured that if I picked up my tools and walked up, the rain would quit as soon as I reached the carport or the deck. Then I heard my mother's voice, deeply ingrained in memory. When I was young, she used to tell me, "You don't have the sense to come in out of the rain." I guess that was excuse enough, so I decided to stay right where I was and try it out. I bent back over my beet plants, carefully sorting the seedlings from the weeds surrounding them, and let the cool drops fall blissfully on my back and shoulders. After a few minutes, the clouds moved on, and the rain stopped. I almost missed it. guess that maybe I had the sense not to come in out of the rain. posted by Annie 10:13 PM | . . .
