The Magic of Rain Storms

Rain storms. There is something magical, healing, releasing, restorative and comforting about them.

A colorful stream of memories tumbles around itself and carries me back to a cozy front porch next door to my childhood home. My adopted grandmother, Mrs. Brundidge, invites me to enjoy a summer rainstorm with her. A green wicker rocker moves me back and forth to the rhythm of the showers, carrying me into the breathless wonder of thunder anticipated. Together, the two of us simply enjoy and marvel. Sometimes my sister joins us and the three of us are transported to a place of amazement, carried on the wafting rain-scented currents.

Life’s stories rolled on. As Nat King Cole sang about the “Lazy, Hazy, Crazy Days of Summer,” our cottage on the water was transformed into an extraordinary nature observatory at the approach of a balmy storm. Sitting cozily in a screen-enclosed kitchen, I could breathe in the perfumed air and anticipate the coming light show. I watched the weather move intentionally across the sky over the limitless lake like a dark curtain sweeping the day away, decorating the humid air with brocades of lightning dancing from cloud to cloud.

In the growing up times of emotional darkness, unexpected relief relief was to be found in the approach of a powerful rainstorm. A cathartic release happened on the inside of me as nature unharnessed her majestic presence in the atmosphere around me. My inner world made sense for a while as it rained and stormed on the outside. The weather mirrored what was in my soul. Somehow I felt understood as comfort soaked into and soothed my deep places.

As I journeyed into marriage and motherhood, there was nothing like an untamed Adirondack rainstorm to clean out all my soul’s senses. To be safely tucked in for the night with my little ones, listening to the tapping of the drops on the roof was a magical place to tell stories by flashlight and freshly release pine scented air. All of this was forever stored in the scrapbook of my imagination.

And tonight while I sit in twilight ‘neath a canopy on our deck, the birds are talking and taking cover in the trees in midst of a premier summer rain storm. Alone in my space with candles to keep me company, we revel in the approaching thunder while gentle soaking rain cleanses, feeds, heals, releasing life … and I write.

Yes. There is something almost supernatural about a good rain storm. Thank-you, Mrs. Brundidge.