“Seinfeld” was a TV show about nothing.
Well, this column is about nothing … unless you consider rain to be something.
As I pen this, I hear the patter of autumn rain on the roof. The sound at first is soft, calm. Then it increases into a running downpour.
Buckets of rain have fallen from the sky in the past few weeks. More, we’re told, is on the way from the tropics, especially at this stormy hurricane season of the year.
Yet, there is something poetic about rain. There are many songs and films on the subject. One in particular I remember from years ago was entitled “Soldier in the Rain,” and it starred a young actor named Steve McQueen.
The poetry of rain quickly vanishes when it becomes a steady, dreadful intruder. This is where we are at this time of year, when rain visits most afternoons and evenings, sometimes arriving like a monster.
This reliable rain may be our annual fall gift from the great rainmaker in the sky.
As children, we used to say, “Rain, rain go away, come again another day.” But that was wishful thinking.
The rain in our time now seems to never go away. Big buckets of it fall from the sky, and yet, there is something poetic about each drop being essential, even critical, to life.
Shakespeare, in his wisdom, compared mercy to the gentle drops of rain that fall from heaven. The bard was right. Rain is a sign our loving God is paying attention to his earth.
There is no doubt that rain is tender mercy. Without water, all forms of life on earth soon perish. Water is as necessary as the air we breathe.
The late Matthew Kelty, a poetic writer and Catholic monk, referred to rain as “God’s loving attention to his earth.” We used to sing a hymn in church on Sunday that began “Joy is tried by rain.”
Kelty and the song are both correct. Rain is love and joy that sometimes brings the opposite to mind.
I’m sure you’re asking, “What is all this musing on rain?” To me, the sound of rain is settling, soothing. Yet, there is something inside me, and us, that fires up when there is too much of it. Then it’s “rain, rain go away, come again another day.”
We are all too aware that when triggered by tropical storms, heavy rain can pose danger to our dwellings and to our lives. Then, rain becomes something dreaded that we pray will pass. Like an enemy in the dark of night.
On one side, we have the beauty of falling rain, watering the crops and filling our lakes and rivers. On the other, we have the terror of rain swelling the rivers and creeks, flooding and washing away crops, belongings and even dwellings.
Rain is two-faced. It can bring on joy and sorrow at the same time. Yet, rain is essential to life. Without rain, all living things would perish.
Farmers need rain to grow their crops. And we need rain and water to drink. Or else.
I remember as a young boy my parents getting upset with me when I walked from school or to the grocery store in the rain. If I got too wet, they reasoned, I could catch a cold that could bring on a boatload of sickness. But I walked on anyway, getting wet yet being joyful.
The rain I sit and listen to has the potential to become a beast. And so I respect rain.
The TV weather person warns us of a thunderous storm heading our way, capable of high winds, lightning and heavy downpours. We listen up and take the advice and stay safe indoors.
Yet, there is this yearning in me and perhaps you, too, to watch the storm from the side porch and to see its dark and angry clouds roll by. For now, though, the rain is calm and soothing. And so I rest on the couch and listen.
A priest friend of mine used to ask, “What do you want, Ralph, blessings or curses?” I always answered, blessings, for sure. But I also knew that curses lingered there, too.
Too much rain is just that: too much. Like a bad clam. I guess I will always keep this dichotomy of rain in me, as both good and bad. One without the other. Rain is mercy when it comes to us gently, and it is a monster when it comes to us strongly.
But isn’t rain pretty much what life is, too? One day sunny and bright, the next day dark and fearsome. Rain is a balancing act of nature that sometimes goes too far in either direction.
Joy is tried by rain, but we need to keep our sunny hearts when the sky is both blue and when it is dark. We are sad and worried when there is no rain. We are fearful when there is too much.
Time now to tone down my “Singing in the Rain.” I’ve mused too long on this poetic subject.
Ralph Morris is a retired newspaperman who lives near Auburn. His email is r.morris@ctvea.net.
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