The world is mud-lucious and puddle-wonderful.
…he sought the privacy of rain,
the one time no one was likely to be
out and he was left to the intimacy
of drops touching every leaf and tree in
the woods and the easy muttering of
drip and runoff…
~Robert Morgan from “Working in the Rain”
There is plenty of muttering, both private and public, since the rain started yesterday. And not all of it is from dripping and runoff into puddles. Anytime a holiday weekend is predicted to be rained out, plenty of people mutter too.
I’m celebrating as it has been weeks — no, months — since we have had a decent rain and everything, including me, has been far too tinder-dry.
Rain is what makes this part of the world special, but like Camelot, most would prefer it never fall till after sundown. To them we live not in a more congenial spot — than Camelot.
I may be an oddity, though somewhat typical of northwest-born natives. I celebrate rain whenever it comes, whether before sundown or after sunrise, as I grew up working outside in the intimacy of a drenching shower. Yet rain, this falling weather, gives me an excuse to stay indoors to putter around instead of mutter.
He could not resist the long
ritual, the companionship and freedom
of falling weather, or even the cold
drenching, the heavy soak and chill of clothes
and sobbing of fingers and sacrifice
of shoes that earned a baking by the fire
and washed fatigue after the wandering
and loneliness in the country of rain.
~Robert Morgan, conclusion of “Working in the Rain”