Anyway, when
I'm in the middle of my annual breakdown, one of my favorite aspects of summer
is the experience of watching a storm come in. I have loved the rain for as
long as I can remember; it is hands down my favorite type of weather, and
when I get the chance to watch a storm front come in over a hot, sunny, sticky
day in June it always helps me remember that there's a reason I haven't tried
to move to Nova Scotia yet (well, a reason in addition to not really wanting to
live there).
The Storm
My favorite place to
watch it is the backyard of my parent's home. It's a sprawling open spot lined
with trees and hemmed in by other old houses that are slowly sinking into
themselves and falling apart, that I've been exploring since I was two years
old. I know and love every tree and most of the rocks back there, and when the
storm starts to announce itself they all begin to sing.
It starts with
the wind, and a slight shifting of the sun. The winds start losing heat and
gaining speed, making a light susurrus, and as that starts up the light changes
subtly, from glaring, angry goldens to a slightly cooler white, edged with just
a hint of blue. The leaves, which have been baking the scent of chlorophyll and
dust into the air since 10 this morning go from blinding, shifting emeralds to
a green so deep it almost seems black in the shadows, and finally you can look
up into the sky and back at the ground without going blind.
At this point
the sky is still largely blue, but there have been puffy, pure white cumulus
clouds drifting across it all morning, and it becomes increasingly evident that
they were simply precursors to a gathering mass of belligerent cumulonimbus.
Generally, this front has been hovering on the edge of vision for most of the
day, a dark grey smudge spread across the bottom of western horizon, but as the
winds pick up the front edge can be clearly seen over the crowns of the trees.
The noise of the wind picks up from a susurrus to something more akin to a
conversation at a country club: clearly audible, with crisp vowels skipping
from branch to branch, but contained nonetheless, and far to polite to raise a
voice louder than would be acceptable. The light goes darker still, and the sky
shifts to a murky grey that spreads out in every direction. In the shadows that
play through the crowns of the trees, you can almost see infinity, fading out
to a calm blue-grey at the edges, and promising as sublime an escape as anyone
could wish for.
The stage is
set, and the only piece missing now is the moisture. The air becomes dense with
anticipation, and the trees start rattling branches impatiently. A single fat
drop appears on the sidewalk, and disappears almost immediately; sucked away by
heat, dry air, and thirsty concrete. Somewhere between eternity and two minutes
pass, and nothing at all seems to happen. A few more drops scatter
contemptuously across across the sidewalk and parking lot, but disappear within
seconds. The air becomes suffused with a smell of wet baked dirt and hot rocks
being rapidly cooled. A heady, indescribably vital feeling
fills both the air and the soul, and the drops start coming down more rapidly.
The first drops are
unbelievably fat, each a full swallow that somehow managed to keep itself
together until finally slipping its bonds in a headlong suicidal rush to the
earth. They land with a sound like snare drum underwater, not just tapping into
the ground, but beating into it repeatedly as peripheral beads rise up from the
impact and get pulled down again almost immediately, giving a small back-beat
to the main rhythm. They come quicker and quicker, until finally the trigger
releases and the sky collapses in on itself like a cracked aquarium, spewing
out water so fast that even the parts of you that are already wet become fully
submerged. It's a frothy mix of water and air, and for the first fifteen minutes
it seems to be leaning more towards water than air; looking up, you get the
impression that if you could just figure out the right angle to dive in,
there's enough water up there for you to swim up into the cloud.
But it's
neither a steady nor sustainable mix, and it ends almost before it registers.
There's a slight slacking, the winds die, and then it drops from a downpour, to
a shower, to a sprinkle, and then into a memory. The sun jumps out
treacherously, and somehow manages to start steaming the life out of you even
as the last drops are landing. Even before the flash-flood in the driveway has
time to die down, summer has started again and cut away any hints of cool
breath before they have time to settle. A few stray maple leafs stir on the
ground, knocked down by the watery avalanche. Mosquitoes start buzzing around
hesitantly, then gain confidence and begin circling with a speculative whine
that darts around the edge of hearing.
In the spite
of the twilight that encompassed the whole world minutes ago, the sun is still
a few hours away from setting, and continues its leisurely slide into oblivion,
slicing through the dripping branches to poke a few orange rays into whatever
spots it can find. As the clouds continue slipping away, it becomes clear that
tomorrow will be even hotter than today was, and muggy to boot. Certainly, it's
going to be a punishing experience, and you're already regretting wishing for
the rainstorm.
BUT. For
fifteen minutes, you were absolutely free. As the wet seeps in between your
toes, and your feet start sloshing back into the house, you can't really regret
it. After all, supposedly it's better to have have loved and lost than never to
have loved at all. And even if it didn't stay you can know, with absolute clarity,
that while it was there the rain loved you back.
Playlist:
Like the dawn, the songs
that remind me of rain tends to be both optimistic and melancholy. It's a time
of both celebration and loss for me, and that's what these songs mean to me
Summer
Song, by Chad and Jeremy. Like New Slang and the dawn, this is kind
of the seminal song for my idea of rain; the two are inextricably connected.
Also as a side note, this song inspired one of the only poems I've written that I feel
legitimately proud of, so that's a thing.
Love
Always Remains, by MGMT
Pieces
of What, also by MGMT
Click
Click Click Click, by Bishop Allen (I know I mentioned this one like
two weeks ago, but it captures the feeling of being just out of the storm
perfectly, and it has one of my favorite stories told in musical form, so y'all
can just go listen to it twice)
Manchester, by Kishi Bashi (this one's for the moment of clarity after the rain, just as the sun's coming out)
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