I’m sitting here on the bed listening to Karl’s rhythmic breathing punctuated by the haphazard splattering of rain on the metal roof outside my bedroom windows.
I can tell when a gust of wind arrives. The clattering sounds like someone dumped a glass of ice water onto the hunter green steel.
The raindrops’ voices are mesmerizing, in spite of their unpredictable intermittence.
My voice, however, feels muted. Lately, I’ve felt as though I can no longer write about myself and my life. It’s hard. I can’t say what’s happened; it’s a mystery.
Long Day
It’s been a long day, and I can’t say any of this is comfortable. All I can say is that it feels like my future is every bit as clouded over as the world outside my window. But it’s not clouded over in a depressing sense. It’s simply…obscured.
Something tells me that this is a necessary part of my process.
So I’m going to go with it.
Good night for now. May tomorrow bring us all more clarity.
I’m sitting here in my living room, the heavy wooden front door of our home swung wide, allowing the sounds of the night to drift in through the screen door. Rain was pouring some minutes ago, but has subsided for the moment. Now I only hear the rushing of the small creek across the road in front of our home that runs the length of our country road and ultimately feeds the Tohickon Creek.
The peeperscontinue to chirrup and groat, regardless of whether the rain pelts, pounds, or caresses. I wonder at that sometimes. Surely some of those heavy drops that sting us when they hit our skin must take a far worse toll on these little beasties. I would think they’d take cover.
But maybe they revel in the experience of storms.
Thunderstorms are the Best
I’m always up for a good thunderstorm. I love them. I remember sitting with my mother out on the front porch of our stone farmhouse, about half an hour north of here. We would watch most storms approach from the west, marching down the valley toward the Delaware River, from our right to our left. Mommy always said that storms would go down one side of the valley, run into the river, and come back up the other side. I never understood this meteorologically (and perhaps storms didn’t actually behave that way), but it always did seem as though we’d experience two rounds of thunder and lightning when a system would move through.
Listening to the rain pick up in intensity again, I’m reminded this be could urging the grass – especially the wild onion, which runs rampant throughout our lawn, to reach heights that will require us to ‘take measures’ to reduce it to a manageable length. We’re into dandelions, too, and whatever else actually wants to live in our lawn – except poison ivy! – such as a recent abundance of mosses making their way across our front yard.
I’ll probably write soon about the mosses that have begun proliferating in our lawn, taking over where the grass was growing thin. Moss is quite beautiful, especially if you let yourself get down on the ground and really look at it closely. It’s amazingly intricate! And so soft to walk on with your bare feet.
Have the Peepers Gone to Sleep?
It sounds like the wind is picking up now. I notice the peepers have stopped singing entirely – at least for the moment.
Wishing all of you a lovely evening (if anyone is awake and reading this) filled with peaceful dreams and deeply restful sleep. And if you’re reading this in the morning? Breathe deep and celebrate this holiday weekend. Passover, Easter, or simply the joy of springtime making its presence known to us again. Giving us hope for all life.
