Raindrops on Roses
My favourite is spring rain. It’s still chilly outside so there isn’t a lot of noise. Most people are cozy indoors, while I’m outside in the cool air, alone with my thoughts and the music of the chirping birds who are singing as though to coax the plants into bloom.
I love the little tiny green sprouts everywhere. It embodies spring. Moreso for me, it’s a symbol of hope and of courage. A little plant, a tiny shoot, that’s been in the dark all winter long is now coaxed by the sun and the warming temperatures. It stretches out — despite all naysayers — and blooms. It stands up bravely to say, “Here I am. I am alive! I can do it! I am bigger than the little bud that has been hiding all winter long.” It’s as though in these rainy days, I am reading mother nature’s book and the words are just for me and just in time, reminding me that there is no task too big that cannot be accomplished if you are simply who you are. No judgement, just true to your nature.
So I make my way out into the rain when it comes. The last few days I frolicked outside. Soaked up the rain, the possibility. I planted new plants. Then I cleaned up the garden of all of the dead leaves and shoots from last fall, uncovering new growth. When I tuned into how I was feeling I heard my inner knowing say, “I am alone, kneeling in the dirt, hands dirty and yet my heart is full”.
After a few hours in the rain, muddy from head to toe, hair completely dishevelled, my husband greeted me at the door with a laugh. In reply, I simply said, “I am happy,” and then I started to laugh too. I laughed both at the absurdity of the mess that I was and at the feeling of joy, how simply and beautifully joyful I felt in that moment. It was bliss.
I love the rain. I love it for the possibility. I love it because it wipes the slate clean. The earth’s and mine. I love it for the peace and the joy it brings. I love it because it brings me back to the present moment. I breathe it in. I am alive.