I am grateful for rain.
Yesterday the clouds gathered, pushing up from the horizon, their bellies darkening. I stood on my roof, the soles of my feet cold on the white metal and felt the first raindrops fall on my lips and eyebrows. The air seemed to ache as thunder rumbled across it.
I can think of no better smell than rain. The pungent smell of pine and grass gets released into the air as if sprung from the plants as the drops fall. I am grateful to be outside so I can smell the earth. Rain makes me want to run. I want to run barefoot through the woods, over logs up to the sandstone ridge and watch the water run down the rocks. I am grateful I have feet to run.
There is no better sound than rain running on my roof, splashing down and hitting the mud and I am grateful I have at least one good ear to hear our desert’s sweet caress as we call out, “At last, the rains have come again.” Even the vulture flies for cover, his wings pounding the air as he lands in the cottonwood.
The rain sounds wonderful pounding the glass, and the only rival is right after, when water drips from the willows and the soil smells like life, so achingly full of life.
White light hits the rocks so clean and electric, contrasting with the piercing dark blue, afternoon sky where the vulture leaves his shadow.
(words and photos by ella jaz kirk)