Blog: Soft Rain

All day Tuesday, people came and went at D&R Greenway Land Trust, in quest of preservation, marveling at the gift of soft rain upon arrival.

When I was a child, rain was always soft.  We used to play outside among the raindrops, wearing bathing suits, bare feet amidst the clover-filled grass.

Then, when I was 11, the Flint (Michigan) tornado filled sky and region with tumult and destruction.  And rain never seemed safe again.

But it's been far worse in recent years, even in winter now, what with catastrophic climate change.  As glaciers precipitously melt, seas fill with unexpected volumes, temperatures, and salinities of water.  And our world fills with storms.

Tonight, it is still raining softly.  So much so, that I keep going out the front door to stand in it.  It blesses me, gentle among my curls as a fond hand, as tender lips.

Here is a poem I wrote during a soft rain of April.  Enjoy it, and relish this gentle night that is so good, not only for the soils and the plants, but for our souls. 

[The 'center' in the poem is the place of physical therapy, which turned me from almost-Porgy back into a hiker and kayaker, post-November's-hip-surgery.]

April’s first raindrop

skims a tall pane

of this center where exercise

promises resurrection

April is nearly over

so today’s healers

speak wistfully of past showers

recollect soaking rains

which I remember

from childhood

as I recall

pain torrents

before November’s surgery

near midnight

I open my front door

to see whether rain

might actually have arrived

for it could be raining

in silence, just this once

collectivities of rain-life

dance in the porch light’s rays

constellations of droplets

tousle my curls

I turn my face

toward this gentling of drops

light as first snow

accidental kiss

of new love

                                                                        CAROLYN FOOTE EDELMANN   

                                                                        April’s end, 2012