Friday, October 14, 2011
I am awakened by the sound of your impact on the ground in the middle of the night. It is a gentle drum roll, not the clashing sound that a severe rainstorm brings. And although I am stirred from slumber, it makes me happy. I feel comforted that the rain will nurture the China holly and green boxwood bushes we recently planted in our yard.
In the morning, the ground is wet, and the grass is doused by a layer of rain beading on each blade. The absence of the sun makes the air brimming with moisture, as it is wrapped and cradled by a blanket of thick, dense clouds. But it is not over yet. The overcast sky hints to brew up more rain.
In my native language, a drizzle is called 'fuzzy rain'. The start of a rain shower begins with a light mist that feels like see-through fog. I almost cannot tell if it is raining until my car exits the garage and I see evidence on my windshield. Tiny drops of water fall on the large sheet of glass before me, and shortly thereafter, two forceful blades abruptly knocks them off. My Dear Son says he wishes that there are wiper blades on his rear side window as well.
After our errand, we head home. DS insists on holding the umbrella on the way to the car, of course. Unprotected, my cheeks greet the fuzzy rain as it gently tickles my skin like the crawl of a caterpillar. (I say that because 'caterpillar' in my mother tongue translates into 'fuzzy bugs.' How marvelous that, in a different language, a rain drizzle is related to caterpillars, simply from the feel they both captivate.) I blink, reflexively and repeatedly, as if my eyelashes are batting away the fuzzy rain.
As I drive on the splashy, wet road, the raindrops on my windshield grow larger, and the rhythmic taps they make grow louder. Facing the gray skies and the now steady fall of rain, I begin to daydream about finding a soft, warm down blanket and curling myself up in it. With a cup of hot Earl Grey in reach, an inviting book in hand, and the possibility of an afternoon nap -- I can think of no better way to spend a rainy day.
We get home and escape any chances of getting too wet. I pull up the shades to invite what daylight is out there into the house. The rain is now cascading down in the view from our window. It blurs the house across from us, and makes the roses in the front yard nod at me. There will be no afternoon nap, unfortunately, but I will curl up with my DS and we'll read his library books together. With tea for me and hot cocoa for him. And you singing us a pitter-patter melody.