People can’t make NOISE in rain
Machines seize up and rust
Screaming Motorcycles sit silenced
Chainsaws sputter
Weedwhackers clog
Lawnmowers spit
Power boats gasp
Hunters stay home
Gray sky blesses Emerald Green
wind battered leaves sigh
soaking in Cloistered Air
Breathing deep
Body vibrates in Peace
soothed by the songs of
Rain whose crystal drops
are gifts for roots and frogs
abandoned unloved trees
underground mycelial networks
Animals sigh with relief
Haunted Souls return –
If only briefly
Rain nourishes the Earth.
Is this why people hate rain?
I wrote this poem this morning when it became obvious that a second quiet day was a probability because of steady rain and cold temperatures in the forties. In June ( I was wrong – one crazed person shot round after round – the rage is palpable – more gunshot violence down the road).
Every day the noise is overpowering – motorcycles, guns, fireworks, fast cars and trucks spewing filth, roaring boats going nowhere, whining lawnmowers and other gardening accoutrements to keep those perfect lawns intact… Noise vibrates through my body enervating and buzzing me at the same time, an impossible combination. Mind feels fury. Body feels hopeless. There is no escape from noise pollution except by torrential rain or mountains of snow. Virtually no one complains.
Even Refuge, a place I go to lessen the harsh cacophony has neighbors… I keep a bed in my car so that we can leave at a moments notice even there. I live in a Culture that worships Violence. Violence permeates the air like a fiery serpent ready to strike, again and again. My nervous system is attached to the Earth – we are One Being – She suffers, and Her suffering is mine. Last weekend someone exploded a bomb in the field below me – Turkeys screamed in terror. But S/he is biting back.
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“As our physical and cultural landscapes transform around us what memories are held by water – what re -surfaces to haunt us, to guide us? There is a space between water and memory.” (my bold face)
Emergence
Is this another reason people dislike rain? Do some fall into the crack against their will?
Do unwanted emotions flow to the surface, dark inner emotions that are normally buried by the fury of a Brutal Summer Sun?
(More murders occur in the summer than at any other time of year. Heat apparently conjures up more Hatred).
It’s an interesting question.
I am in touch with my feelings. Like it or not. Today, I feel the leaves on the trees recovering from yesterday’s trauma when they were beaten down by hail and high winds. Amazingly, all wildflowers survived unscathed, even the lupine spires.
Today’s soaking rain nourishes all living beings, and I lean into the songs of flowing water as my body rests.
Two days of rain – the first so fierce it tore new leaves from their branches, toppled trees ripping roots from the ground as they fell. (Oh how the noise makers raged when their trees toppled, docks and moorings escaped)! Tons of topsoil were swept to the sea, thanks to the logging machine who has no use for protecting the water from raping the soil (as well as the trees).
The second day dawned as a blessing. Quiet rain all day. Not enough to keep the birds from visiting the feeder. The cardinals were feeding each other. Woodpeckers, titmice, chickadees and golden finches flitted back and forth under a canopy of new leaves. All trees are recovering, their leaves open to the sky perhaps in prayers of supplication, while soaking in, soaking in the precious nutrients that will allow them to survive at least in protected places. Like here. For now.
The WildFlower Moon passed by last night. Perhaps she brought mercy to those who needed her most, the fragile ephemerals. My animals and me.
I used to love the moon but in the last few years I have come to fear her fullness for she now brings frightening extreme weather shifts in her wake. The dark side of moon is showing her revengeful face on a regular basis. This month was no exception.
These days my moon ceremony consists of prayers to the Four Directions and a simple water blessing. This month I was grateful for water that I scooped out of overflowing rain barrels. Water that keeps the tadpoles happy.
A blessing for the house, the Earth, myself, and my beloved animals.
Bowing to the Goddess in Green.
Thanksgiving.
I am a Woman Who Comes to Life in the Rain… nourished by flowing waters and the golden green.