Lorraine C. Lordi
It's been a wet week. A record cold month of June, too. I don't mind cool weather. And I don't mind rain, either. In fact, I like it. A whole lot.
I love the sound of raindrops at night, tapping on the roof. Pounding on the roof, even. Either way, I feel this sense of otherness, something greater, that knows better than I do what it is I need. And somewhere in between listening to the rain's heartbeat, I drift deeply into sleep.
One of my favorite poets, Gerald Manley Hopkins, wrote this most amazing poem in which the narrator is wrestling with some big life questions that haunt him: If God is just, then why are the bad guys among us doing so well in this life? Similarly, if an artist stays ever-faithful to his mission of truth, why then does he face such grueling periods of drought and despair?
In the end, the narrator doesn't discover an answer. He merely asks for one gift to help him bear his struggles. He requests, "Lord, send my roots rain."
Wow, huh? Out of all the things one could ask for - financial success, fame, fairness, favoritism - the lowly artist asks for rain. In the end, he realizes that water is all he needs to keep him nourished. The metaphorical surrender to a greater, more merciful Whole is perfectly clear.
Perhaps in some deep unconscious part of who I am, the presence of rain is like that for me, too. It's the simplest gift without which humankind could not survive. That's wading pretty deep into the invisible beauty of rain. But even if I didn't get to that depth, I'd still celebrate rain.
Because rain cleans off everything. Dusty leaves, dirty driveways, sweaty foreheads. It keeps my petunias growing. It fills up my bird bath. And all the while, I don't have to do a thing - except maybe scrunch down in my blue easy chair and read a good book. Or drift into dozing for a minute or more. Or even go out for a long rainy day walk.
I know what you're thinking. Rain isn't all that great. Like everything in life, it has its downside. It cancels cookouts. It ruins fishing. It keeps folks indoors. Remember being stuck inside with toddlers on gray, rainy days? Didn't you want to curse the heavens and scream, "Enough already!" to the rainmaker in the sky?
Truthfully, no, I didn't. Because I don't believe rain locks anyone indoors. We stay in because, because I'm not sure why. We're afraid to get wet? We think we might melt? Last time I checked, I didn't see any Wicked Witches of the West dissolving on the brick walkways out front.
Several summers ago, I visited with my daughter Emily in New York City. Our main excursion was to go to the Botanic Gardens in Brooklyn. That morning, a mini-hurricane roared right up through New York State. What to do now? Why, pull out the umbrellas, zip up our slickers, and go smell the roses. Why not?
In the garden's hundreds of acres, we spotted a total of three other people who didn't care if they sloshed ankle deep in water through those verdant gardens, either. Emily noted, as five of us huddled under one especially large leafy tree, that as crazy as New Yorkers were, they weren't crazy enough to be out in this weather. Except for us. We all laughed.
When we made it back to Em's apartment, we tossed our soaked sandals in the trash and put on water for tea. As we sat sipping Earl Grey, my daughter and I knew: If not for the torrential gift of rain, it would have been just another ordinary, ho hum, summer day.
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Lorraine Lordi lives in Londonderry. To order her collections of Derry News columns or sign up for one of her writing workshops, go to www.plumriverpress.com.
