(Written recently during a storm. Not modified or cleaned up yet.)
I can hear as it drips on the leaves.
The leaves hold the weight of water as long as they can and then let it drop to waiting leaves below.
A cascade of soft wet comfort.
Thunder hits some power source nearby.
We are plunged into darkness without warning.
We live on a slight hill...
When it rains we are treated to the view of a newborn river.
Fast and furious.
Pouring into gutters and driveways and licking car tires.
Nothing in its path is free of water touching it.
There is something magical about rain.
When I know I am safe, no thread of impending tornadoes, I enjoy the rain.
When the power is out, we are able to employ our stock pile of candles.
The house beams with flickering rays casting soft shadows on the walls and ceiling.
The children wander around at first.
Wondering what to do without electronics or light.
We should do this more often.
All is quiet now.
Windows are open to hear the rain and feel the breeze.
The kids have gathered in the living room to be close to us.
Sleeping in various contortionist ways on the couches and floor.
I enjoy the quiet.
I think I crave quiet sometimes.
The rain reminds me of what I'm missing.
It is a soothing sound. Reminiscent of childhood days.
Days spent marching around in the flowing street gutters. Playing the pots and pans for our watery band.
Now I'm trying to ignore the thunder.
Have you ever thought of noise as colors? I think thunder is white yellow. Rain is a soft blue-purple.
Maybe I'm the only one who thinks this way.
Rain dripping into the gutter.
Streetlights glimmer off the rushing road.
All is peaceful.
I am at rest.