The rain started last night, a slow rain at first then it got both heavy and loud. Neither dog would go out before bed. It was late or early, depending on your perspective, before we all went to bed. It was after 3, maybe even closer to 4.

While I am with Jack for my long visit, Henry stands outside the gate watching me and wagging his tail in anticipation of the treat he knows he’ll get when Jack is done with me. Nala is uninvolved and is usually asleep on my bed in my spot. She lifts her head for her treat and chomps slowly. That’s when I first try to move her. I am not very successful. It takes a while. Finally, she gives me a scorned look and moves.

It is still raining. I am glad for that. Even when I was a kid, I loved rainy days. I found them comforting in a strange way as the rain was all around me. I was inside my house but I could see the rain and hear it. In the summer I could smell it coming. In the summer I could go outside during a soft rain. I’d run and dance and get wet. I’d feel a sense of joy.

During my Peace Corps training, (I know! Not another Peace Corps story you think, but this one is different), we lived by the ocean for the first two weeks. It was the rainy season there. Just about every day a gentle rain, almost a mist sometimes, fell. That was my first introduction to a rainy season, and I was led astray. Where I finally lived in Ghana, after training, was in Bolgatanga back then the capital of sorts of the Upper Region. We had two seasons, rainy and dry. Of the two, I survived the heat of the dry season, an accomplishment of sorts I was told later, but I loved the rainy season. The storms early in the rainy season were the most amazing storms I had and have ever seen. The sky would darken with the most menacing clouds. The wind would start then the lightning and thunder. I saw my only ever lightning bolt hit the ground in front of my house. It was spectacular, but I was quite glad I was in my house and not on my outside porch sitting under a metal awning where I might usually have been. The rain was so heavy at first that I could see the dirt paths and roads being washed away leaving rivulets filled with moving rain water and only mud between them.

I watched the rain. It was sometimes a little mesmerizing, but it was after the rain stopped, when the almost miracle happened. I like to think of it that way. The sky got light. The sun came back. The tree branches popped back up, their leaves unfurled, but the best part was the dirt. The rivulets were gone. The ground was flat. The dirt was no longer dusty. One rainstorm, one miracle. When the rains kept coming, everything was planted. Green replaced the brown color of the fields. Market stalls were filled with plentiful fresh fruit for sale, finally from down south. I’ll never forget the sweet taste of a pineapple cut fresh from the bush.

All those amazing experiences were thanks to the rain. They are reasons I love the rain.

I have many rain stories yet to tell, but I’ll save them (drum roll here) for a rainy day!

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This entry was posted on January 13, 2023 at 3:06 pm and is filed under Musings. You can subscribe via RSS 2.0 feed to this post's comments. Both comments and pings are currently closed.