“When anybody asks, 'What are you writing about now?' if I try to reply, the book-in-the-works sounds so idiotic to me that I think, 'Why am I trying to write that puerile junk?' So now I give up; if I could talk about it, I wouldn't have to write it."
- Madeleine L'Engle, A Circle of Quiet


Tender Rain

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Today was a relatively warm, but cloudy April day here in my hometown. Of course, I spent the bulk of it indoors so most of what I know of the weather was from my commutes to and from work.

Sometime in the mid-afternoon I stepped out of my little shared office, which was mine alone today since either my co-workers or their children are sick, and I smelled rain. It was the strangest thing. There I was smack dab in the middle of a very large office building with no outside doors anywhere near me and no open windows, and I smelled rain. It was lovely.

The next window I saw confirmed what my nose told me; it was indeed raining - a cool spring downpour.
I love rain. I have a recurring daydream of standing out in a big field in a warm summer rain with my arms stretched out wide and my face to the sky. I twirl and twirl and let the rain drench me.

I've never yet done this anywhere but in my daydreams, mostly because I've never had a big open field. This year, however, I hope to have my opportunity to do so. We are now the proud owners of a 6 acre field, and should be living on it for most if not all of the summer months. I can't wait for my first warm summer rain.

With rain on my mind, I decided to embark on a search for a poem about rain. The following is what I found. I've never heard of this poet before that I can recall, but I love the meter, the imagery, the fact that she calls the rain "tender".

Oh, gray and tender is the rain,

That drips, drips on the pane!
A hundred things come in the door,
The scent of herbs, the thought of yore.

I see the pool out in the grass,
A bit of broken glass;
The red flags running wet and straight,
Down to the little flapping gate.

Lombardy poplars tall and three,
Across the road I see;
There is no loveliness so plain
As a tall poplar in the rain.

But oh, the hundred things and more,
That come in at the door! --
The smack of mint, old joy, old pain,
Caught in the gray and tender rain.

Lizette Woodworth Reese


At 4/06/2006 10:31 PM, Blogger Blond Girl wrote:

Very pretty. I can see you in your field. More importantly, I can see you coming in from your field, drenched and needing a shower and being completely happy about it.

and yes, fresh rain is the lovliest scent... before the worms come up, that is!


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