Writing: Hot Summer Rain

     There has always been something about a summer rain that inspires me.

     The sun peeks out from behind dense clouds and hits the roof, steam rises up into the pine trees. Then there is the heat. It seems like a very different type of heat, a heat that can really permeate you. Thunder rumbles in the distance and, with the sun shining here, it seems very surreal. I watch the reflection from a puddle dance on the porch ceiling.

     The air is sticky and heavy. It smells like rain, like wet dirt. It is almost a stifling thing to sit in, but it is oddly enjoyable. I feel like most people would be miserable in this, but I could sit here for hours breathing it in. The earthy feeling of it gets into your core. If you will just take a moment to really take in the beauty of it, you can feel it.

     Try to take in all the little details around you: the drip drop of the water running off the roof, the dark line on the cement slowly receding, the leaves on the bushes sagging from their shower, the birds out looking for newly unearthed food, and the little drops of water clinging to the foliage.

   With my eyes focused on these little beads of water, a thought occurs to me. The rain drops on the grass and leaves, are being pulled in two directions, both vitally important. One being toward the ground to nourish, the other toward the sky to replenish. No matter which way it goes, whether it is pulled into the cool earth or dispersed into the summer swelter, it is destined for extraordinary things. It is an immense thought, that a tiny drop of water can be so powerful. If it can invoke such change, what can I do?