Ode to rain

An alert from the weather service lights up my phone. A small crack of SMS lighting unleashes a torrent of worry.

Tornado?

Straight-line winds?

Flash flooding?

I reach for it on the nightstand and squint my eyes against the glare to bring what it says into focus:

"Rain will begin at 11:37 tonight and continue on and off for the next half hour."

I don't really understand it. Any of it. The notices of the rain, and the rain itself, its relentlessness mystify me.

But there are six of these messages lined up in the device's recent history. Usually arriving at once a night, they seem ill-timed and unnecessary.  

The rain had been tapping at the roof for some hours now. I had already felt its icy slash at my skin as I walked the dog earlier. It was a constant hum in the background.

It was beginning to seem familiar, like a piece of patio furniture.

The Saturday before, as we set out to the city farmers' market, the phone had even tried to assure me the weather was clear.

But the rain outside the car and the rapid movement of windshield wiper proved an alternative fact.

I wish it were so. 

The unpaved ground, everywhere I step, feels like moss underneath my feet.

Ten of the last 14 days have been sodden and gloomy. 

The pattern, at least according to local weathercasters, will continue.

As a result, everything feels damp and cold and dreary.

I joke with myself that I may have to build an arc to leave the comfort of the indoors and not be carried away into the wild. Although with my skills, the resulting vessel would be akin to a milk jug raft, held together by twine and duct tape, and not at all pond-worthy. I can't muster a smile, let alone a laugh even a maniacal one.

I used to love the rain. I loved the sound it made when it hit the leaves above. I loved the look of the drops that beads up on my umbrella, turning the world into a faceted prism as I trudge through lush and rapidly growing fields. The clear gumdrop-shaped dome, bought on a whim, offers joy and generous protection. 

Not that I mind getting caught in the weather. Even now, as "April Showers" bring "May Floods," and Who Knows What Hardship Come June." Some of my favorite memories flashback with puddle splashing, rain-soaked hair, and clothes from which I could wring a cup of water. 

I should knock on wood for all the luck I've been having. The rain was seeming to hold itself back from a deluge until I return to my car. Tapering off again when I've traveled some and parked.

This game it plays with the sun is the perfect foil.

The rain is impish and amusing for now, while the sun stands overhead and salutes, threatening oppression as it grows in strength.

Those alerts are coming. But right now it looks like rain will begin again at 5:11.