nonfiction · Uncategorized · writing

Listening to the Rain

It was raining when I got up this morning. Outside was dark, the clouds rolling in with distant thunder, heard faintly. I fixed my first cup of coffee and settled in my favorite chair in front of the patio doors. The big old apple tree was drinking up the  rain drops thirstily. The leaves fluttered slightly in the breeze. The red and green apples washed of dust in the dim morning light.


I sat back and took a sip of hot fragrant coffee. Sam, my little Shih Tzu buddy laying at my feet. The cats hiding under the couch because of the rumbling in the  distance. They have always hated the thunder. The morning quiet, except for the plop- plop of fat rain drops landing on  the patio doors. It was peaceful.

Then the hail came, small pea sized pellets bouncing off the wood planks of the patio floor. Not a lot.  But enough to make me worry about  my cucumber patch in the garden. I gave a  little sigh, disliking the tiny disturbance in my perfect morning. I took another sip of coffee, settled more firmly in my chair and  let the small worry pass.

Lost in thought I watched a small raindrop travel down the glass pane of the door. Slowly it zig zagged its way to the bottom.  My thoughts jumped here and there and never settled on one thing.  I had a lot to do, but was enjoying the rain  and the peace too much to move. I was re-charging. Letting the silence settle into my soul.  It felt good, sitting there and listening to  the rain.