Rain Dancing

“We grow great by dreams. All big men are dreamers. They see things in the soft haze of a spring day or in the red fire of a long winter's evening.” – Woodrow Wilson

I breathed a sigh of relief looking out the window specked with wet droplets, wishing I could hear the rain gently fall - pooling into puddles and flowing into rivulets which turn to meandering small tributaries ants wouldn’t dare forge. Placing my fingers on the clear reflective surface and tracing runaway multi-facets of clear streams, I smile as the cool dampness invades my fingertips.

Relief floods through me in weary contentment. The hazy day outside my window promises a well needed reprieve. I want – need to lose myself in the comfort of my couch, an Indian blanket strewn across my knees and my laptop waiting, ever waiting for days such as this for the dance to begin.

Spring’s arrival kissed my cheeks with warmth and mischievously tousled my hair in blithe merriment in recent weeks - playing havoc with the nature lover in me. How could I not want to lose myself in the fresh scent of dirt and gentle breezes invading through windows at half mast? Grass never a greener, green – emerald, jade and shades of olive let loose from imprisoned snow.

Old Maid woodchuck came out from under the shed to take a bow, her winter fur with it’s tuffs of beige shimmering in the sunlight. A visit to the creek gave way to the blue jay’s soaring flight at eye level across my path. Let’s not forget the bright red backyard bird to the north – the Cardinal or the beautiful Oriole. They’ve all properly graced us with their company these early spring days.

And yet…I smile looking out my window fogged with each exhale. Yes, spring has let the sun kiss my lips and the new growth of lawn tickle my senses. “Almost”, I whisper, not yet, I’m not quite ready yet to leave this space I inhabit to write. It’s comfort enough to know ere long I’ll have my hands buried in dark brown soil and dirt ground beneath my fingernails as I plant and knead the earth.

I’ll take what comes, no rush, no candor just wanton days of ‘what if’s’. As I let my fingers loose across the keyboard, my heart flutters and the words begin to fly free to grace the page. It’s the perfect day, my kind of day, to let my fingers do a little…rain dancing…



Picture found here