As I sit on my couch and look outside,
it is pouring. Rain is steadily pounding our
deck, forming puddles that start as a few droplets but coalesce
into larger pools of shiny wetness. It is a quiet soaking rain, void of
angry thunder and shocking bolts of light.
The house is quiet. I listen to the pouring rain,
a sound I have always found comfort in. It’s steady,
rhythmic, continuous beat signifies the season of
new life.
In the last two days our maple trees have leafed out.
Swollen buds have burst forth with verdant extensions of
tender foliage, not yet thick enough to obscure the branches but
opening upright on the tips of each in almost a smile like fashion.
The plum trees are blooming. Unfortunate is the timing because the
bees will not visit in the rain, signaling a possibly slim summer harvest.
May. It has never been my favorite month. Caught between the end and
new beginnings, Some days full of bright promise, others
so dark with gloom.
Full of transitions, end of year stress, and racing
to finish obligations agreed to
many months before.
Today, instead of more cleaning in the garden bed as
planned, I will stay home, finish some school work and
listen to the comforting
sound of nature as the earth awakens
and becomes green once again.
The Apples in My Orchard 