Rainstorm

First a blue jay flew overhead, screaming. I knew then that a storm would be coming.

Soon the wind picked up, so I gathered my garden tools, put them away in the shed, took off my straw sunhat and went inside to make tea.

The tempest that followed was the keenest we have yet had this Spring. It poured rain all afternoon, soaking the garden and the soil, drenching the green grasses and flowers and weedlings. I sat on the porch with my teacup for a while, watching the fervent storm with appreciation for the fragrance of rain and the surpassing beauty of the wet woods. Then I went inside to sweep the house because, rain or shine, there is my work to do

In bed at night, lying beneath our feather-stuffed quilt, the melody of the rain on the roof and through the leaves of the trees was a sound most sublime. I like to imagine: from where has the rain come... through which places did it travel... to where is it going...?

In the morning, I awoke to the continuing sound of raindrops. I thought of my happy roses and threw open the windows. The fresh rainy perfume filled the cottage. In the silvery light outside, the leaves of the trees were soaking wet, glistening in soft verdant hues. The bark of the trees was deeply colored in russet browns, ochres, fawn and roan shades. Some trunks of saplings seemed pale shades of plum and magenta; others were quite green, almost chartreuse. Have you noticed that many things appear more beautiful when wet? Certainly this is true with stones and shells; I consider it to be true of trees as well. Even though the rain may sometimes be inconsiderate of blossoms and blooms, how kind it is to a tree!

The rainshower inspired me to work on my own watercolor painting... though I could never create anything as lovely as a tree in the rain.