Carol Jane Remsburg
It's been raining nearly non-stop from drizzle to all out downpour for nearly two weeks. Oh, I did see 3 minutes total of a sunburst three times today and the last time that happened was two weeks ago on Saturday before the sky clouded over and somebody carted off the sun for repairs or somethin'.
In the intervening two weeks it has felt as though the sun would NEVER shine again. It's been cold, but not frigid, gray, blustery on and off, and down right raw. Now that kind of cold gets right down into your bones, especially if you've had a broken bone or two and have survived beyond thirty or forty years of age.
The cold, dark, damp coupled with a sharp, barking wind takes away all ambition. From the moment that alarm sounds, it isn't about going into work whether you love your job or hate it, that sound of the wind, the rain, and the cold that permeates almost everything save that cozy spot beneath the blankets where YOU are tends to make you want to stay there—like until the season actually gets a kick in the butt and changes.
This weather isn't like the deep cold frosty winter morns with or without snow heralding the dawn's break. That's when it's so cold you get your butt out of bed and rush to a steaming shower and into your clothes and out the door and almost to work before scalding hot water and scorching coffee allow the cold to touch you. You arrive at work just blinking awake and hope the heat is working that day—all the while wondering how you got there.
Rain is vital to life on this planet and to us. Often there isn't anything more welcome than a late spring thunderstorm when home to enjoy the fireworks (after unplugging all the electrical devices you hold dear) and sitting on the back porch. When that cool front does blow in and after the light show has ended, you traverse back indoors for comfort. Summer's follies, those with the big rolling thunder and screaming spikes and blinding lightning, are exciting. However, most times these are swiftly moving changes, here and gone before an afternoon is out.
Rain is meant as a giver of life, of renewal, and a signal of hope.
After fourteen straight days of cold, bleak, windy, raw rain—the grayness tends to overshadow all. It grays out the world and what's important. Even if you have a snug home to shelter under that gray wetness preys on you. It nibbles at your attitude making you barky and sharp with family and friends. The cold works its way deep inside beyond bones and sinew, bowels and organs. This type of cold wetness casts a shadow over the soul, which is painful and worrisome.
Meanwhile, even without the brilliance of the sun, the grass that was a dun brown becomes greener and richer and thicker. The peepers begin to peep. Forsythia blooms as do the mock orange trees and the pink and white dogwoods and the jonquils and the crocus. They remind us that while it may be dreary and cold AND damp, that Spring really is coming.
The sun they promised today and later revised to come on Tuesday or maybe Wednesday is something to hold onto. Meanwhile, I've got another book I want to finish and those flannel sheets and warm blankets call me come the close of the day.
I'm eager for the warmth. Knowing it finally will come keeps me going. I hope it will for you too.