It's still July, I remind myself as I sit in the park getting goosebumps. A storm is blowing in over our quilt & books, and those who came for the free concert are looking about them, considering.
A man stands at the end of parked cars, hands lifted toward the setting sun, shoes on the grass beside him. He prays, seeing more than we can.
The clouds lift till we think we're in the clear ... then heavy drops begin to dot our legs.
We fold the blanket and retreat, rolling windows against the rain. White-haired women raise lawn chairs overhead, folded in lieu of umbrellas as they walk back to their neighboring homes. The a cappella choir arrange themselves under a pavilion and carry on. A remnant fills the picnic tables; some stand partly in the rain to hear the hymns. The singers smile.
"Join in," the director gestures when they start Amazing Grace, and people do, in four-part harmony, effortless. Mom with tiny daughter. Young family. Man with a cane. Middle-aged couples. Us.
After another song or two, we leave. Drive through the country, stop for an ice cream cone with all the locals, the cloudburst over.
It's hot July, but a breeze is blowing through.
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rain. Show all posts
repeatable pleasures
[dug from the depths of the unpublished, forgotten archives, just for today, another overcast soporific day, great for napping....]
I'm still groggy.
That's right, I had such a crazy deep nap on such a crazy perfect napping day that I woke up with absolutely no idea what day it was. I love that.
When Sugar came down from quiet time and asked to snuggle with me, I realized that I had just spent the better part of two hours unconscious of my surroundings.
It's overcast and drippy without actually (to my somnolent knowledge, anyway) raining. It's the first really cold day of fall. Add that to two nights out with the family and a serious need for sleep catchup and you have the ideal conditions for a knock-em-dead middle-of-the-day nap.
I'm so grateful for variety. If every day were sunny, when would I nap? If every day were cloudy, when would I click into gear and get productive? (of course, the two are sometimes reversed....)
: :
other pleasures, from my refrain of praise....
# 265 - that little indomitable fellow, heart of my heart
# 269 - grey-green caterpillar, a find
# 280 - stacks & shelves of books, for the reading
I'm still groggy.
That's right, I had such a crazy deep nap on such a crazy perfect napping day that I woke up with absolutely no idea what day it was. I love that.
When Sugar came down from quiet time and asked to snuggle with me, I realized that I had just spent the better part of two hours unconscious of my surroundings.
It's overcast and drippy without actually (to my somnolent knowledge, anyway) raining. It's the first really cold day of fall. Add that to two nights out with the family and a serious need for sleep catchup and you have the ideal conditions for a knock-em-dead middle-of-the-day nap.
I'm so grateful for variety. If every day were sunny, when would I nap? If every day were cloudy, when would I click into gear and get productive? (of course, the two are sometimes reversed....)
: :
other pleasures, from my refrain of praise....
# 265 - that little indomitable fellow, heart of my heart
# 269 - grey-green caterpillar, a find
# 270 - another walk through Big
# 271 - another sweeping sky
# 273 - shrunken sweater stitched into smiling bear
# 274 - a neighborly chat in a farm lane
# 275 - tucking persimmons into trespassing stranger's cupholder
# 277 - reconnecting, a thin thread
# 280 - stacks & shelves of books, for the reading
# 282 - pendant raindrops on crepe myrtle seed pods
small pleasures
A summer rain, rushing in to drench a dreary world, and leaving filled with sun.
A small boy with a blue rhinoceros on his shirt, reaching up soft arms in confident appeal.
Companionable daughters, hair-dressing their dollies.
A quiet hour, a good book to read, a bar of chocolate.
A gift given out of love and fullness of heart, received in like spirit.
Air-conditioning on a muggy day, just enough to cool without a chill.
The tiny serendipity of bringing in the laundry just before the unnoticed rain.
The cozy sense of belonging.
The neighborly feeling of knowing who is riding that same motorcycle up and down the road all day.
A child, asleep under sun-dried sheets, almost but not quite too old for a nap.
My sturdy son, crowing for his tractor to be lifted down from the shelf.
Sibling love.
A phone call from my husband, to tell me he might be late, but probably not, just to let me know in case.
Simple suppers that nonetheless satisfy my family.
A good night's sleep.
A morning cup of coffee, drunk in comfortable silence with the friend of my life, my husband.
A daughter's gradual, hard-won victory over pessimism.
Another daughter's prayer, thanking God for herself.
My son's chuckle as he investigates the eternal fascination that is his world.
Reading aloud to my daughters a book that brings light to my heart and tears to my eyes.
Kindred spirits, every one.
Lightness of heart that arrives with the rain, inexplicably.
Gratitude.
The Father of heavenly lights, down from whom comes every good and perfect gift.
Joy.
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