I awoke this morning to an overcast, rainy day. Not unexpected. They had been forecasting several inches, lasting throughout the day. But what was interesting is how it set my mood. The room remained in semi darkness, even though dawn had come and gone. Walking to the window, I observed the trees, staggering under the incessant downpour. Raindrops bounced off the resistant street. And I found that I had already shifted into a lower gear. There was a peacefulness that existed. Perhaps it was the tinny sound of the rain drumming on the metal bulkhead doors. Or perhaps the way the leaves on the maple sapling in the back yard bent briefly when struck, not unlike piano keys. Or the multiple pots of lush plants on the deck, weathering and welcoming the shower.
Yesterday had been a testament to everything a day should be. The sun and cool breezes together preserved a temperature in the low seventies. It was a day that could not be denied nor ignored. I had to be out in it. Garden chores that had remained unchallenged suddenly became excuses for being outside. The lawn, although recently mowed, mocked me with it’s rapid growth. In the garden, pole beans sprung upward, seemingly gaining inches in growth overnight. Cucumber vines clung perilously to the trellis, embracing the sun. Trees swayed to the swell of the breezes, and I found myself immersed in this gift of Mother Nature.
The rain has stopped, for the moment, but ironically, I do not wait for the sun. I instead wait for, hope for it to begin again. I don’t want to break the mood. I have deemed this to be an inside day. And, as with yesterday, I look forward to those ignored tasks that have gone wanting because I had to be outside. It is a day to putter. A time to slow down a little. A time to redefine and adjust my activities and attitude.
There is a rhythm to it all. A plan to which I am not privy yet embrace. I don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I am sure it will be yet another piece of the cycle. Another combination of senses and sensations that will again bend me to their will, and I will respond without reservation, acknowledging my inability to change them. And therein lies the beauty. I am but an observer of things greater then man has been able to change or spoil. I am the recipient of an environment that I will never own, but simply borrow. It is mine to hold, but not to have. I too, it seems, am just part of the cycle.