Rain Day

A thunderous boom woke me this morning. A bright light flashed under my eyelids, while another peal of thunder echoed. 4 AM, and it was suddenly pouring. I went to the spare bedroom, closed the windows against the rain. The cold wind was trying to force my window fan to turn faster, so I shut it off and went downstairs. Within minutes the house was cool and breezy. I took a shower and dressed; comfortable jeans with the black and white cowhide belt, a longsleeved light cotton shirt. No watering needed today, I thought, as I sipped the first cup of coffee on the verandah. It is 63 degrees and feels like fall. Damp leaves are blowing past, clinging to the wooden floor for just a moment, stumbling away again.

As the sun comes up and the coffee kicks in, I start to function. Know what would taste good on this cool damp morning? Banana bread. So I got out my ingredients and went to work. The butter, honey, eggs, walnuts this time instead of pecans. It is baking now...

The dogs, usually so anxious to go out, are still sleeping. Rainy weather does that to them. The DOT guy leaves for work; his white pickup with the yellow lights glowing eerily in the bluegray dawn. I start a load of laundry down in the basement; take out the dryerload and fold it. It is so quiet. No dogs barking, no birds twittering. Just the muted clicking of the raindrops in the maples, the wet sound of their leaves whispering together about the rain.

My brother lives in Idaho; oddly, we are almost on the same longitudinal line now. I check his weather... we usually run about even for summer temperatures. Today, however, we are at 63, he is at - 48 degrees. Ah. Mountains. We are both even further north than Chicago, IL. I watch the bubble of yellow rain on the satellite map swoop away from us and down toward poor Des Moines again. Down in SC it is already 80.

Soon I will stir up the dogs and walk them, get ready for my town trip.

I think about what it will mean, those long cold and snowy days ahead when, like today, the world seems very far removed, and my activities will be similar... watching the weather, doing the quiet tasks that accompany that quiet time. And I wonder why some people hate that, dread it, flee from it, toward bright lights and crowds and excitement. The neon crayons they use to light and color their lives hurt my eyes. I far prefer the greys and softer colors; the browns of baking bread, the ochre of the lights dimmed down to mere glows on the ceiling and walls. The gentle flicker of candles, the soft pop of the fire in the woodstove soon to come when the white snow falls. Why flee? Why run towards something that cannot satisfy?

Time to take the bread out and taste a warm and buttery slice.