Monday, 9 November 2009
It's midnight, and I'm hanging out a final load of washing. Literally as I place the last peg, the heavens breathe a gentle sigh of rain down onto me. I've waited 3 days for this rain. Itching, craving, anxious for the smell of sodden soil. It's as though the ground takes a deep cleansing breath, letting the water soak it and wash away all ills, mine with it.
I can't go to bed. Not now. I feel like I'm going to explode with nervous energy. I've cooked, baked, made lunches and hung out washing. But I can't go to bed now. And miss this? Not when I've waited for this rain. A part of me wants to go and dance in it, or at least stand and let it wash over me.
At first, it was the lightest mist. Not enough to really do anything but make my heart skip as I remember another night, just like this. A night he got down on one knee, and with tiny droplets on his hair and smiling, beautiful eyes looked up at me. And asked me to be his wife. To be with him forever.
Light rain will always make me think of that magical moment. I'm smiling right now, as I think of it, and I wonder if it's as big as my smile that night. I wonder if he saw in that moment how he made my heart dance and how the word "Yes" just seemed so inadequate. Yes. Yes. A hundred times yes. Thank You. Yes.
It's raining harder now, and I'm glad for it. We need it. Our tanks need it, our soil needs it. I need it.
My household slumbers, unaware that it has come. I want to wake Joel and sit outside with him, but 12:38 isn't his favourite time to be woken to reminisce. I want to hold his hand, feel his thumb run over my knuckles. Just like they did the night we promised to be together forever. Just like the moments we told our parents. Just like the day we stood before God and our family and friends and pledged the rest of forever. His thumb, always caressing my hand, comforting, soothing, seducing.
Wake up my friends. You're missing it.