Summer Rain

I was on an after dinner walk with a friend. We walked up and down the streets of Wheaton, IL past the quaint brick houses with their carefully tended yards. It is a town of window boxes and lemonade stands and American flags.

As we walked, it began to rain. Gently at first, light drops filtered through the trees. Then thicker and faster until it was running down our faces. We could hear it rustling through the trees overhead and whish under car tires. It was a summer rain, cool and refreshing against the warm air. We saw no need to hurry. I felt cleansed and alive, like the earth was quietly accepting me.

When I came back to our third floor apartment, the rain was pattering on the roof. It is a beautiful sound. I realized how I have missed rain this year. It doesn’t rain much in California and when it does…it’s different. It seems more desperate, more violent, less natural, like the rain is uncomfortable with falling in an unfamiliar place. I have missed the gentle summer rain showers that quietly come and go and soak into a welcoming earth. I have missed the sound of rain on the roof.

The rain became harder and thicker, hammering now. Falling in sheets. Swirling around on the pavement. Drumming the trees whose leaves hang limp. The trees sway. The clouds shift and a crack of light is revealed.

The rain slows and then stops, and the earth is still again. The sun falls away behind the trees and a wet dusk settles in. I can’t help thinking that the earth, the trees, the roofs, the pavement – they must feel content, they must feel blessed. That is the effect of a summer rain.