We had a thunderstorm last night with pouring and pounding rain, bright white flashes of lightning and booming, rolling thunder and wind blowing the trees sideways. It blew by. It lasted for just under 20 minutes.
I counted the first burst of sound and flash of light that woke me from an uneasy sleep, just like Mom had taught me to do. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand.” It was right over head as it headed west. I quit counting at seventeen one thousand… it was traveling across the midnight sky.
Then just as suddenly as it began, all was quiet again. The trees stood still and the undisturbed darkness returned. The smell of wet pavement blew in my open window as the drops of rain fell on the warm streets.
When I woke this morning, we’re back to the heat with bright sunshine. The sky is light blue with high fluffy clouds thousands and thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of feet in the air.
The light is a soft, muted golden yellow. Even the air itself, as if it were visible, shimmers. I think because of the slow and gradual transitioning to autumn, and the extreme heat we’ve suffered, the leaves are starting to turn on the trees and fall to the ground.
What a sight to see and remember in this late August time.
I wake to another cold and rainy day. What a relief after our brutal Summer and Fall where the earth cried for rain. From what’s predicted, we should have nothing but welcome cold and clouds and rain through the middle of the month, at least. May it be so until Spring arrives in our neck of the woods
As long as I have my coffee in the morning and my lovely warm bed and my beautiful room and knitting to do and the cats and dog lying about, I can’t imagine being more content on this November 1st.
I’m trying to put aside the earth’s sorrow and just enjoy that the holidays are here. Though I love every season I might say that this is my favorite time of year, though I can find something in every season to bring me joy.
But I love the dark days and I love when people start to put up the twinkling lights. I love to walk by houses with lights in the windows at 5:00 in the evening. I can imagine a warm welcome for everyone. I love the gatherings with drink and food and at least an appearance of love and goodwill. I love the giving of gifts no matter how great or small.
Contrary to what many, or maybe even most think that these are Christian holidays, for me they are not and never have been. Rituals of celebration and gatherings and the giving of gifts existed way before what people think of as commercialization. Make your days of celebration be what you will.
I am too much of a realist to wish a cozy home and enough food to sustain through the dark months for every person and being on the Earth… and peace… at least peace. And yet I wish it so.
My trip to Arizona was amazing. Tracy and Kelly and I visited historic sites to view missions and petroglyphs. We visited mountains and canyons, the desert and rivers and creeks.
We hiked in the Madera Canyon in the Santa Rita Mountains and did a lot of birdwatching. A coati came right to the door of our cabin… not once but three times.
Deer and wild turkeys were abundant as were the afternoon thunder storms with raindrops the size of marbles. The food we ate on our travels was a cultural adventure.
Tracy drove us along the rim of Box Canyon, an adrenaline rush to be sure. Where the road was washed out and only wide enough for the truck, we laughed or held our breath as we looked into the depths of the Canyon, yelling and telling Tracy not to look but to keep her eyes on the road.
The skies in Arizona are wide and blue or black with giant storm clouds the size of mountains. The roads are strewn with washes and signs warning of flash floods and cattle wandering the open ranges.
I greet the saguaro as we pass by. They seem like old friends and maybe ancestors. I love all of the cactus that I see as we drive long, long stretches of road through the reservations and small towns and seeming nothingness except the land, the mountains and sky. But there’s something special about the saguaro that I can’t explain.
Though October is rattler explosion time, I thankfully didn’t see a one and I thankfully didn’t see not even one bear or big cat. The universe heard my cry.
We knew the elusive Red Start was near because we could hear it’s song. We were never able to spot it until moments before we left the cabin when it hopped upon our door jamb as though to mock us and to say goodbye.
Back home we visited the Cosanti studio again where they bought me another bell. We swam in the pool and looked at the sky and read the books we bought along the way. We watched a movie or two and discussed life in general and in particular as we loved on the three old dogs and cats.
It’s the Pacific Northwest, Portland. We have dry, hot winds from the east out of the Gorge blowing in from the desert-like High Steppes.
Everything is tinder dry and crackling. The ground forms fissures like open mouths waiting for a drop of water to quench its thirst.
For the first time, I’m hearing the Cosanti bell ringing more, as our porch, where it hangs, faces east. It’s so lovely, but I’m wishing for wet, Fall weather with hard winds coming from the southwest, heavy with water from the ocean.
We need days of rain… days and days, maybe even weeks… months. We need cooler, cold, temperatures to make the sap run into the roots of the trees, so the leaves can change color and drop to the ground in soggy layers. This persistent summer-like heat feels strange, unnatural, even.
People… we look at each other in shorts and t-shirts, eating out of doors at sidewalk cafés, strolling after dark as if it were mid-summer. We smile uncomfortably, commenting about the strange weather, attemting to make light of something so unfamiliar.
Will it end? Will we get back to rain bouncing off the pavement, forming puddles, streaming from the roof, filling the gutters. Can we get back to running from the house to the car and into the store, school, coffee shop, trying not to get wet? Will the streams and rivers rise to flood levels again? Will children have to wear raincoats over their Halloween costumes ever again?
Can we get back to sweaters, raincoats and boots? Can we get back to complaining about the dark days and constant rain? Please.
While living in Mexico, I learned what the rainy season really is. We’re talking rain so thick, so heavy, so hard that it comes through the roof.
We’re talking thunder so loud and that lasts so long that I swore that it alone could kill me.
And the lightening. Lightening that lights up the world every bit as bright as daylight.
We’re talking the jungle itself being torn away and swept into the streets… torrents of water carrying trees, and plants that wash down from the hillsides, into the streets and into the ocean turning it into a swirling brown mass of debris.
The only thing to do was to climb onto the bed, open the balcony doors and watch the show. Sometimes the storms would last so long that my nerves would shatter.
Geckos and insects would come in to shelter on the walls and take cover in the corners of the ceiling.
And then it would be over as quickly as it started. The heat persisted because the rainy season happens in summer… 100° and 100% humidity. Was it refreshing? No.
Always sweating, always wet. It was too hot and wet for hair, for jewelry, for underwear. Earrings would heat up and burn my neck. I cut off my hair to the scalp. And underwear? What for?
My roof leaked. Not leak like I could catch water in buckets, but water that stood inches deep that I sloshed out and off the balcony and into the street with a broom.
I’d had enough: I called Juan Manuel to fix my roof.
Juan Manuel sent Juan Manuel and Manuel to fix my roof. Meanwhile, Juan came. I thought Juan was sent by Juan Manuel but he wasn’t. I had to send Juan away. So Juan Manuel and Manuel fixed my roof. Sorry Juan for the confusion.
eyeamdust 