Rain fell softly, early that morning. Mist spilled across the bluff top, rising from the fertile valley below, enveloping the tree canopy in a cloak of wonder. The ancient bluffs barely took notice. How many rain showers had they seen during the eons of their existence, gently wearing away their grey sandstone, layer after layer, a geological shedding of the skin? They stood stoically by as the drizzle fell, immune to its magic. I, on the other hand, rejoiced.
There is a certain enchantment in the air which I only feel during times of rain. Perhaps it is the charge of electricity in the air that accompanies a lightening storm, when atmospheric nitrogen becomes available to plants, nourishing them with every flash of light . Perhaps it is the way that rain is the great sustainer of life as we know it. After a rain, everything is renewed. Or perhaps it is the way the light is softer, lacking harsh pockets of sun and shadow that accompany the sunniest of days. I feel a greater connection to both the rhythms of nature and to my inner world during a rain shower. Some rainy days are an invitation to stay indoors, to indulge my contemplative side. Other rainy days beckon me to come out to play. This particular day was one of those.
Until next time...