Rainsong

I half expected to hear thunder, the rain was so heavy. The music of rain is a favorite sound, rich with memories. It brings a sense of safety and love. Whispering on my parka when trekking a muddy trail, kissing my face even while communicating an urgent need to press on. It coaxes out the scent of the forest as it falls on the boughs of ancient trees. Pattering on an umbrella at the farmers market as I snuggle close to the man I love. The aroma of dark coffee wafting up in our small shelter while a piper plays the music of southern jungles amidst the venders of flowers and apples. There is less of a crowd and those of us who still come to the market in the rain feel a kindred spirit that is missing on brighter days. Maybe the best rain sound of all is this one that wakes me now. Hard and fast on the window, a sweet scent of its own fills the room where I am nestled in a quilt in the dark. It must be a love song.

Long ago, when there was no beauty to speak of, when the world was fresh and new, without form, without fill, only The Breath of Elohim in the dark, embracing the newly born creation, water was the blanket that surrounded all that would be. I wonder sometimes if I have a memory of sorts, of safety in the shelter of rain. God is here in the dark; his breath surrounds me, the scent of rain washed air, a sweet embrace. Snuggle in deeper, rest for a moment in this love. Time to refresh rather than sleep, to wake up excited because life is about to happen, but for now, there is only the song of rain on my window.