Let the rain kiss you
Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops
Let the rain sing you a lullaby
The rain makes still pools on the sidewalk
The rain makes running pools in the gutter
The rain plays a little sleep song on our roof at night
And I love the rain.
~ Frances Hodgson Burnett, The Secret Garden
Some days this time of year, the skies begin gray with indecision and it doesn’t rain nor does the sun ever shine — a truly lukewarm day. The days that are most interesting, however, are those that declare themselves “clear” or “soaking wet” and then switch somewhere in the middle in a stormy transition.
A day can start with pouring rain — no half-hearted drizzle, this — with no hope of clearing, no peek of blue sky, no mountains on the horizon as if covered in gray cotton wool.
Then in a mighty switch near sunset, a wind blows in and takes the gray away with a sweep of the hand. The skies clear, the mountains reappear with even more snow cover than the day before, and everything around shines with the glistening wash that has taken place.
It is spring, it is April, when all things are reborn wet and shimmering. Let the rain drench irresistible light.