It's raining again. It's rained for days now. So much that the ground refuses to drink it. Water sits in streams through the yard and pools around the trees.
Thunder beats the roof like a big bass drum, shaking our small cottage and lightening flashes through the windows lighting darkened rooms.
This evening fog rolled in to join the band, hovering just a few feet from the ground. It's heavy with heat, enfolding itself around the tops of the trees.
This is summer rain.
Sweet smelling summer rain, warm and inviting. It's good rain for exploring. For seeing snails creeping along tall blades of grass. For standing face up and letting it wash over you. This is the kind of rain that makes me want to walk around the backyard barefoot until my jeans are heavy and soaked. It makes me throw open windows and sit and listen.
It's like a wonderful lullaby. It quiets us and rocks us into a deep slumber of mind and soul. And as it tapers off, dripping slow, it leaves us with beautifully, peaceful dreams.
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