It rained this afternoon, after threatening us with opaque skies all day. The rain finally came at about three o’clock, and the boys came in from bike riding, and Emma Grace put on her bathing suit to go out in it.
It hadn’t stopped at four, when we’d planned to go to the pool, and then some lovely thunder came along, so we were firmly In. That was fine.
I love rain. I love the way it sounds, and the way the gutters and creek run with water, and having to be inside. When I left the church building tonight after the symphony, it was raining again, and I just let it hit me even though I walk slowly because of my orthopaedic shoe. I didn’t bother covering my head with my program. It was a gentle kind of rain, and it was lovely.
Here is a poem having to do with rain. It’s been a favorite for over ten years now. I hope you’ll enjoy reading it here.
The Rain
All night the sound had
come back again,
and again falls
this quiet, persistent rain.
What am I to myself
that must be remembered,
insisted upon
so often? Is it
that never the ease,
even the hardness,
of rain falling
will have for me
something other than this,
something not so insistent–
am I to be locked in this
final uneasiness.
Love, if you love me,
lie next to me.
Be for me, like rain,
the getting out
of the tiredness, the fatuousness, the semi-
lust of intentional indifference.
Be wet
with a decent happiness.
–Robert Creeley
