7.9.23
Yesterday, in the early evening, we had the most wonderful rain. The clouds had been building since early afternoon and thunderstorms with abundant lightning had been predicted. Storms are welcome for the most part of the year but after a long, hot, dry spell, these summer storms in our part of the state tend to be rather frugal in the moisture department. We often sit on the front porch, marveling at the ferocity of Mother Nature yet at the same time holding our breath, hoping she will be kind and bring copious amounts of rain along with her fury. The rain we had last evening was a true blessing.
This morning, when I woke up a little after 4 o’clock, the sky in the east was tinged with pink and peach, heralding another hot day. Yet the breeze coming in the window was deliciously cool and still scented with that amazing smell known as petrichor, a smell so welcome to those who live in areas with hot summers and little rain! Somehow, the sprinkling of dry ground and grass from a whirly-bird sprinkler never quite duplicates the aroma Mother Nature shares with us after a dousing of her own.
As I sit here this morning, the hummingbirds are active at the feeders and the sound of their wings accompanies the songbird’s morning calls. It is a soothing sound. My first cup of tea of the day sits beside me and for a moment, I just let my mind enjoy the peace of the morning.
Lately, I have had many people write to ask how my writing is coming along, when will my next book come out as they are patiently but anxiously waiting. Folks have written to ask if all is okay on the farm as my Sunday Stories have seemed to dry up along with the oncoming of warmer weather. These little notes from so many of my faithful readers have been much appreciated and yes, they have encouraged me to get back on the wagon and slowly get back to writing.
Writing for me is a very personal thing. As I promised years ago when I decided to bravely head down the Writer’s Path (in the hopes of one day becoming an actual recognized author!) what I wrote about on a Sunday morning would not be planned, would not be rehearsed, but would instead be my free-flowing thoughts coming out as words on paper. For the past few months however, I have found myself half afraid to sit down and write, wondering what words would blossom on the page if I kept to my promise and let my mind run free. I began to fear my aspirations to stay on the Writer’s Path, my desire to write was fading, drying up just like grass under the blazing heat of the summer sun.
Occasionally I would get a burst of ambition of a Sunday morning to get up, open the computer and let my thoughts flow, but these bursts have lately been few and far between. Darrell would encourage me to sit down and write, but to me, as I say, writing is a very personal thing. Something I cannot just turn on like flipping a light switch in a darkened room. I wondered if my story telling days were over. Had my desire to write truly left me?
Last evening, Darrell and I sat on the front porch and watched the sheets of heavy rain come over the hills, sweeping ever closer to our home. The rain drops starting out as a spattering here and there on the dry wood of the deck then quickly turned to huge drops right before the deluge began. We sat, reveling in the sound of rain pounding on the roof, feeling the splashes on our feet, enjoying the sudden drop in temperature and most of all, savouring the scent on the air. As I sat there beside the man who means the whole world to me, I truly felt blessed beyond measure. How rich our life is that we can enjoy the simplest of pleasures side by side.
This morning, as I lay in bed watching the sky change outside our bedroom window, as I heard the roosters and songbirds heralding the dawn of a new day, it reminded me yet again how short our life is in this world. What little room there is in it for negativity and remorse. How each day we are given is truly a blessing. It was as if that rain last night was a more than mere moisture from the clouds eagerly absorbed by the dry earth, it was cleansing. It washed away more than a layer of dust on the trucks and tractors, it refreshed everything, including me. So, as I sit here, I find I am at peace again with letting my thoughts flow. Somehow, I have the feeling I am ready to get up and continue on, letting my feet once again find their way down the Writer’s Path.