RAIN

The sound of rain wakes me from sleep. Finally it is here. The water running down the metal drainpipe, the thin drumming on the roof above me, the light patter of drips upon the windowsill slightly disorientates me. It has been so long since it has rained. The sounds, the quality of the air is, at first, unfamiliar. But then I remember that this is what rain is like.

The rain came again. It always does and has been for as far back as I can remember. It seems to be never expected, but it always arrives. And this, for some reason, comforts me. Once again water is falling from the sky. This is just the normal course of things.

At some point there just is nothing left to do as far as the universe is concerned. It is just time to utterly and totally let go. And rain. All the cars, the traffic, the busyness, the frantic efforts trying to make things be a certain way, the plans, the good and bad intentions, the worry all seem to be washed down in intensity a little when it rains. As hard as we try, as much as we want things to be a certain way, sometimes none of it matters. The sky, the world, just carries on doing what it wants regardless of us. Rain is the perfect answer to just about any concern.

Growing up I used to love “coloring” looking out of my upstairs bedroom dormer window when it rained. I would line up my collection of stuffed animals, soldiers and favorite books beside me as I drew in my pajamas. The world seemed so stormy and unknown on the other side of the window. I loved that I was safe, that I was dry, warm and could create any reality, any place I wished to go, by drawing on the paper in front of me. It was a small doorway that once opened let me go anywhere and be anything I could imagine.

I remember the sounds of rain upon the windowsill. I remember the smell of breakfast coming from downstairs, the din of the radio my father listened to every morning and even the waxy fragrance of my shoebox filled with crayon pieces.

As I colored I imagined and created all kinds of places I might go someday. The world lay before me unexplored and waiting. Anything seemed possible. It was raining outside my window and my world inside was made utterly and poignantly perfect. Again.

With gratitude, Nicholas