The soil and the plants were primed last week by a fog that told the tale of temperature inversions and predictive growth. Even though I don't know the exact travels the rain drops have been through on their journey to these lands, I am thankful for the chaos that led them to fall from the sky. The ponds are full and all things brown are turning green, even as I write.
There is something to a Spring rain with its steady flow of drops falling across the roof, running down the corrugated tin, splashing in the puddles outside the windowed walls. There is peace here in this rain when the winds are low, even if there is the sound of rolling thunder in the air as it booms across the valleys. All of these thoughts remind me of being much younger, sitting on a covered porch listening to music by artists such as Van Morrison and James Taylor, thinking about the wonders of the world and the mountains that awaited me -- out there.
On this day, as I try a little Chai tea, I reflect on my return from the varying "out-there's" I've experienced to date. The wonders turned out to be more wonderful than I had imagined and as for the mountains, well, I guess you could say there are always mountains left to climb no matter how many times one has reached the summit.
Mountains to climb, valleys to cross, rivers to navigate, things to experience, stories to tell, discoveries to be made. Yes, there is something to a Spring rain, something more than water or wonder or words: there is life.