It just keeps raining. It rains and rains and rains. It’s like it won’t stop. Like the thirsty earth just can’t get enough.
I forgot this happened in April. I really did.
I forgot how the sky is always grey and heavy with clouds, how the earth is always soggy underfoot, how the worms leave their grass beds and creep along the sidewalks, how sad and sleepy I feel because of stormy nights and weeks without sun.
Maybe this doesn’t happen to anybody else. I can’t imagine that to be true though.
Sometimes I feel like that’s just life. When it’s grey, it’s really grey. When it rains, it’s really raining. Thick, heavy raindrops that fall fast and hard. The kind that assaults your house and tries to break through your bones.
It looks so forlorn since the trees haven’t sprouted buds yet and everything still looks homely without their silky garments of vibrant greens and anxious yellows, of luscious reds and bashful blues, of graceful purples . . .
Everything is just grey. Everything is just brown.
The world is subdued in muted shades of loneliness and expectation.
I sit, wherever I am, steeped in the moment. It’s hard looking past what’s right outside the window. It’s hard to see through the rain, to see past the clouds, to see beneath the mud-covered earth–to remember that life is stirring.
That there are roots growing and strengthening in the dark where we can’t see. That life is waiting to unveil itself. That there is a beautiful sun so much bigger than this little planet we live on. And that, what may seem like a flood, is really just enough–just the amount the earth needs.
Everything in its own time, I guess. We are all just waiting.
But without remembering what I’m waiting for, I get swept up in the dullness of the day and am blinded to the subtle beauties.
I forget that sometimes the sun does shine. That the world breathes with sighs of contentment that stir birds from their nests and flirt with our loose hair or our cotton dresses.
I miss out on the passionate dance between lightning and thunder all because it’s commonplace.
As much as I’d like this season to begin–for the brighter days; as much as I’d like to not feel sad, to not feel tired; as much as I’d like for the wait to end, I’d also like to be strong enough to endure this.
I wish the weather didn’t affect my mood.