Barbara Huffman

Rain. Rain. The skies opened and spring showers fell steadily out of the heavens like a river current, washing away the last gray snow to showcase vibrant greens.

The vernal equinox, which usually falls on March 20, marks the start of spring according to the astronomical seasons, when Earth stands sideways to the sun. Every year, winter and spring battle until the season of new beginnings wins triumphant, as it always does, eventually, and temperatures warm. Hours of sunlight jump as shadows shrink and light intensity grows stronger. Showers are nature’s promise that winter is over and better weather is coming.

Rain. Rain. The forecasted storm had brewed with low dark clouds, dropping temperatures, and a shift in the texture of the air. Forewarned, now cozy and dry inside my one-story bungalow home, I sat at the large front window comfortable on my couch, legs stretched, relaxed, observing the harsh climate outside while sipping a cup of warm chamomile tea.

The TV announcer interrupted scheduled programs to advise “Severe weather warning! Do not drive cars through flooded areas!”. The alerts came so frequently it proved difficult to follow the story line of the “Chicago Fire” episode I had been watching, and I turned off the TV. My phone app pinged, warning of flooding, wind gusts and heavy downpours, but I expected this storm wasn’t going to be that bad. “Rain is normal,” I told myself.

I listened to the sounds of the precipitation hitting my house, the sharp staccato pings of multiple droplets propelled by strong winds against the glass windows and exterior doors harmonizing with the loud arpeggio of streams of water rolling off the pitched roof.

Outside, the storm sounds were different. Raindrops strike the flat leaves on the large oak trees in my yard with a smacking sound while droplets quietly hit the saturated ground. Drops ricocheted against the hard street sidewalk surface like dancing nymphs celebrating the

season.

The proverbial first sign of spring, a robin, sheltered from the gale in a large hardwood tree in my backyard. I envisioned the bird gripping the tree branch to hang on and not blow away in the gale winds while tucking its tiny head into its wings to avoid the heavy showers pressing against its fragile body.

The saying goes, “April showers bring May flowers” heralding the landscape blooming to life with warmer temperatures, but the torrential downpour pounded the new growth, leaving beds of mud where beds of tulips and daffodils had been sprouting.

I wondered whether chipmunks who normally emerged from hibernation in March would delay their routine, choosing to stay sheltered a little longer to avoid the tempest. No matter how much rain falls, life finds a way to persevere. Animals know how to survive a storm.

Even though I had had the basement of my house water proofed last year, I checked the lower level. Opening the basement door, to my dismay, I discovered that water had filled the outside window wells to overflowing, causing seepage where the glass met the window casement. Wetness dripped down my basement walls. Small puddles were forming where the concrete walls and floor intersected. The flooding would not be contained by the solid boundaries of my house’s foundation.

Outdoors, walls of moisture pushed natural boundaries, the lakeshores, rivers and streams, beyond their banks. The distinction of edges of land and water were lost as wetness consumed the landscape. Individual raindrops massed into currents rushing down the streets like an uncontrollable stampede overwhelming the engineered drainage. Stormwater eroded stream banks, scoured their bottoms and submerged vegetation.

Rain. Rain. Stifled inside my house’s safe physical structure, I longed to connect with nature. Ignoring the dangers predicted by The Weather Channel, with arms flung wide, I ran out of doors to celebrate the elements.

Even within the fixed parameters of my fenced yard, I felt akin to the natural world. I stood on my lawn, and lifted my countenance to the sky as the rain wakened my senses. Moisture stung my face and chilled my body. I felt invigorated. I opened my mouth to drink in the wet, imbibing in spring’s cocktail. I wanted to feel water seep into my body, like the trees absorb the moisture through roots, bark and leaves.

Defying the temptation to return to the warm dry solitude inside, I became part of the downpour. Like a kid who merrily jumps in puddles, with abandon I laid down in the grass as the rain swallowed me. Soaked, I eagerly abandoned the protection offered by coats, umbrellas and boots. I embraced the damp environment.

Nature promises that the rains will stop, which they eventually did, and I experienced the quiet post storm calm. I smelled the clean refreshing scent of earthy-musty wetness. The heavens cleared and spring’s night sky brilliantly displayed nature’s patterns in the stars, moon and planets. Standing in the moonlight, listening to the quiet, breathing the humid air, my soul opened to the season.