There's a delightfully soft rain falling out there this morning. It is desperately needed. We've had little to none since the beginning of March. The swamp across the road is already dry so there's been no chorus of frogs, the spring peepers, at night. They've had to find wetter ground to do what frogs do in the spring. It's a sound I miss, the end of winter anthem.
The rain is the kind that washes the dust and salt off the roads, that caresses each new blade of grass and leaves the whole world shining and new. It's a rain that will make swelling leaf buds explode so a soft blanket of green will soon wrap winter gray branches. It's the kind of rain that begs putting boots and raincoat on and going for a walk amongst the trees. It's the kind of rain that makes the cedar's rich aroma flood your senses.
I'm sorry to not be able to do that but walking in the damp air might not be a good idea until I am better. Although, I can hear the Red Wing Black birds singing away from my seat at the kitchen table. What a beautiful and welcome noise, their grating, upwards trill.
It always amazes me how the world can recover from the bitter hardships of winter and this winter was especially hard. I went for a walk around the yard a couple of times last week to soak in the growing warmth of the sun and to see if anything didn't survive. So far so good. Signs of growth are everywhere: the sharp spears of the peonies, the bubbling nodules of the rhubarb, the tiny, wispy leaves of the Black-eyed Susans. They are all a rich, purplish, burgundy colour that stands out against the colour of the earth.
The Lord has clothed these new signs of life in a royal colour. It's no wonder spring is a metaphor for hope.
"For lo the winter is past, the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth; The time of singing has come." Song 2:11-12
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