Browsed by
Category: rain

Rose Before Rain

Rose Before Rain

Comments 0 Comment

The rain moves in soon, up to an inch an hour according to some forecasts. I’m glad I snapped shots of the roses earlier today..

These are delicate flowers, especially when fully open. I shudder to think what they’ll look like this time tomorrow.

For now, though, all is still and calm. The sky has eked out a few drops, but the big deluge is still west of here. Time now to take what we have — late rose and rose hips, yard full of weeds, garden past its prime — and savor it. Before the rain falls.

Freshened and Fragrant

Freshened and Fragrant

Comments 0 Comment

Woke up to cooler air this morning, and the return of … aromas. I could smell the grass lush and green as I stepped off the bus and waited to cross 18th Street. I could smell the damp in the puddles that lingered from yesterday’s rain and the perfume of flowers freshened by the dousing.

Great heat drains energy — and, as I’ve been realizing lately, it also drains scent. It leaves a dusty and less olfactorily rich world.

But now, after our recent rain showers, we have fresh air and fragrance — a bountiful combination, a feast for all the senses.

Rainy Day

Rainy Day

Comments 0 Comment

Woke up to a rainy day, to puddles and pings, to the music of water on wood and stone. The house is quiet except for these sounds and the ticking of clocks — two of them now, the cuckoo in the kitchen and the mantel clock in the living room.

Outside, the roses are hanging their heads and the bamboo is shooting up, an inch an hour — or so it seems. New leaves are doused and soothed, not used to such drenching.

Nor am I. It’s been mostly sunny most of the time, which I love and need. But every so often I need a rainy day, too. Time to gather thoughts and clean file cabinets and, oh, just stare out the window for a while, like Copper here.

Listening and looking: good occupations for the day.

Rain Song

Rain Song

Comments 0 Comment

The rain began before I woke up. I knew it was coming, but I didn’t think it would sing to me. A pitter-patter, yes. But not this other sound, this low ping. It’s as if someone is tuning a cello or plucking a piano string.

And it has a steady and distinct pitch, too. I hum it, walk over to the piano. Could it be an A? Always a good first try; a million tuning orchestras can’t be wrong.

But no, it’s not an A, or a C or an F. Better try some black keys. And there it is — a B flat — or at least my out-of-tune piano’s version of that pitch.

Were I of a more mechanical bent I would worry about what’s making this sound. I would check for leaks or breaks. But instead, I listen. I let the rain sing its song.

(Waiting for Sächsische Staatskapelle Dresden to arrive and tune in the large golden concert hall of Vienna’s Musikverein)

Late Walk

Late Walk

Comments 0 Comment

The snow didn’t just melt yesterday, it evaporated. It left us in a great sigh of fog and cloud. A late walk convinced me of this, put me in the midst and the mist of its vanishing.

Along the shoulder, snowbanks receded, and rivulets streamed across the pavement. The air was alternately cool and warm, pockets of moisture and of scent.

Car lights cast rainbows in the air. I kept my distance, knowing they couldn’t see me. But I marveled at the diffused light they cast, and used it to find my way.

In the west the clouds parted just enough to showcase the sunset, its pinks and violets a simmering, shimmering band of unexpected color.

Battening Down

Battening Down

Comments 0 Comment

Actually, I have done little of this. The rocking chairs are inside and the rest of the deck furniture is too heavy to blow away.

I’ll collect some extra tap water tonight, keep it around in pitchers and bowls. And I’ll check the basement frequently to see if rain is seeping in.

Beyond that I’m planning to clean, organize and watch movies.

It’s blizzard mode, only with rain instead of snow.

Water, Water Everywhere

Water, Water Everywhere

Comments 0 Comment

A rainy Monday, so maybe not the best day for a post about thirst and the lack of public water fountains. But an article in yesterday’s Washington Post made me think about this endangered feature of communal life.

According to the International Plumbing Code, the number of public drinking fountains required in new buildings is down by half, the article says. There are a few causes. One is the consumption of bottled water, which has quadrupled in recent years. Another is fear of contamination, which ironically has grown since the Safe Drinking Water Act in 1974 began requiring municipalities to notify their residents immediately of any problems with their water.

But the lack of clean, safe public drinking water has actually hurt American’s health by driving young people to consume more sugary drinks, the article argues. And a preponderance of plastic water bottles is hurting the environment.

This article explains why I have to hunt longer to find a public water fountain. And it also makes me remember the water fountains of my youth. The one at Idle Hour Park, which made a deep whirring sound and produced a trickle of water that seemed to have been drawn up from the depths of a nearby swamp. And the one in the hall of my grammar school, which we would be allowed to stand in line and use on warm spring afternoons. Imagine 400 to 500 kids drinking out of the same fountain! Still, nothing has never tasted as good as the water that flowed from that cool — and I’m sure unsanitary — tap.

Ninety-Three Percent

Ninety-Three Percent

Comments 0 Comment

Just back from a walk in the mist, the air filled with moisture. Good for the skin, bad for the hair (I’ve given up this week) and, when one is out in it, good for the soul.

How can this be?  It’s the first week of June, a time when blossoms should be bursting from the branch, a time of blue skies and not yet broiling temperatures. This year a week of steady rain and heavy mist, of sodden soil and fallen petals.

Look carefully at the air and you can see the droplets there, a drizzle so fine it surprises itself.

I originally titled this post “Ninety-Nine Percent,” because I couldn’t imagine how air could hold more moisture than it’s holding today. But I checked the weather and found that it’s ninety-three.

Six percent more? No way.

June Channeling April

June Channeling April

Comments 0 Comment

It is June channeling April. Rain is pounding the roof, bouncing off the deck, making those musical gutter sounds it does when it means business.  It is weighing down the bamboo and darkening the deck.

The plants love it, so do people who prefer their summers on the cool side.

But for those of us who like our summers hazy, hot and humid, this weather seems out of place, to say the least. Where is the whirring fan, the glass of iced tea with almost all of its ice melted?

About three days away, that’s all. And so, since there is little to do about it, I’ll put on my tennis shoes and raincoat and float away into the day.

First Summer Storm

First Summer Storm

Comments 0 Comment

I ran into the house last night dodging fat drops of warm rain. The thunder and lightning started as soon as I closed the door. Finally, a spring storm, not a chill winter rain.

Copper ran down to the basement even though I slipped him into a green doggie polo shirt. I’d read somewhere that any close-fitting shirt can be a “thunder shirt,” can make a creature feel safe in the storm.

But isn’t darting under a table in the basement an eminently sensible thing to do? The universal need to take cover. My own grandmother hid in the closet during storms, I’ve been told. And any feelings of coziness storms bring is directly related to how secure I feel during them.

This morning I awoke to a drenched world full of eye-popping green. Not exactly a rainbow but the next best thing.