I love rainstorms. I used to love them more.

When I was a child I would hang out the window, inhaling the fresh air, getting drunk on the damp scent that only comes with a cleansing storm. I would head out into the streets to splash in puddles and race sticks in the gutter and get wet.

I haven’t done that in years.

These days it seems storms only come when I’m trying to go somewhere. The puddles in the gutter splash mud on my tights or soak my skirt making the commute miserable and the office or classroom uncomfortable. The umbrella is always a pain to carry and store. Even if the storm happens on a weekend, I’m busy studying or working or otherwise involved in something that I can’t interrupt for the simple pleasure of enjoying a storm.

Today I did.

I was going to fix up the dolls when it started thundering. I thought, “Oh shucks, I was just getting settled, too bad” and then I thought, “No, the dolls are not important, you need a storm.”
I was right.

Thunderstorms are beautiful.

Have you ever looked at thunderheads? Tall gray clouds, their many curves and curlicues outlined and accented by a silvery edge from the sun, scudding rapidly across the sky. Beautiful.

Have you ever looked at the air, when it is almost opaque with rain, and the house across the street appears misty as if through fogged glass?

Have you looked at the trees, their colors heightened by the rain, rivulets of water glistening as they run down the bark and gather in crystalline pools between the lumpy roots?

Have you looked at the leaves, bowed gratefully beneath the laden droplets, pointing them down toward their thirsty roots?

Have you seen the treetops, tossing lustily in a wind you don’t feel, throwing their branches about with an equine spirit and suppleness you never suspected they had?

Have you walked barefoot on the wet, spongy grass, felt the spring of quenched flora and saturated earth beneath your feet? Have you walked through the warm puddles, felt the liquid flow around your foot comfortably? Noticed the gleam of light off the edges of ripples, and the glassy clearness of the liquid? The shinier, fresher color of the blacktop, cement, hose, paint, everything…?

Have you spread your arms to feel the falling drops as the plants feel them, their gentle sting as they strike, the star-like splash pattern on your skin?

And of course, don’t forget the beautiful sound and light show in the sky – the lightning arcing gracefully from cloud to cloud, the many different rumbles that accompany different flashes…

After a half-hour, the storm slowed to a trickle. I felt as relaxed and as bright as all the plants with their newly heightened colors.

Why don’t I do this more often?