Rain, rain, come again another day...

The following is an old post, that I wrote when I first came to Dunedin.

Now Dunedin is my home, and I almost consider myself a Kiwi. And I want to share the blessing of our rain with you. So here it is...again.

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It is raining right now.

As I look out of my bedroom window, I have a beautiful view of the peninsula, silver-dark in a halo of misty rain. It's beautiful.

You will never hear me curse the rain. Never.

In our old house in Melbourne, I spent the last three summers hauling buckets of water from our shower to the garden, trying desperately to keep living things alive and the garden growing green.

When we first moved in to our old house, the garden had a watering system that was used regularly, and a family of geckos lived under the rocks in the fernery. They were mercurial little creatures, dashing about under fern and leaf litter, creeping under shady spots and damp places and basking in sudden dappled bursts of sunshine.

When we had to stop watering our garden, and the water restrictions came into force, the gecko family disappeared. I miss them. I still think on them. Did they survive - finding their way down to the local creek, perhaps? Or did they die, along with so many of my plants? I hope they lived, with all my heart.

Many of my tree ferns died too. I watched their new, unfurled fronds shrivel and die from lack of moisture. There was nothing I could do - even buckets and buckets of water and a hacked-together greywater system seemed no good. They need real, heaven-gifted rain, and that was the one thing I couldn't give them.

Finally, my lavender died. I'd never heard of lavender dying from drought before, but it became hard, dead wood, the flowers faded and dried, and it was gone. With a heavy heart and sweaty back in 40 degree temperature - well past the old 'century' in fahrenheit - I dug its dried roots out of the earth, which was now dust, and drier than straw.

After the work was done, and the dead lavender chopped into small pieces for compost, I remember going inside and pouring myself a drink of water from the tap, and getting scalded by how hot the 'cold' tap water was when I checked it with my fingertips. I cried hard then, and not just because of the burn on my hand.

So now, when I see rain clouds darkening and covering the sun, I smile.

When the rain comes first in soft mist, then drizzle, then downpour, I want to run outside like a five year old kid and dance in the storm, drenching myself in the glory of the wet and the cold and the sting on my face and the slap of my wet hair against my cheeks.

I want to jump in puddles again, and laugh at the rain, because I know it is our friend, our helper, and the source of all that lives upon the earth. Without the rain, and the mist, and the drizzle and the storms there can be no trees, no breath, and no life.

So I'll treasure the rain. I'll laugh at the water when it gets in my boots, and I'll think on those who do not have this blessing, and be comforted and joyful that the blessing has come to me.

Right now I look down on the peninsula as it rains. I would take a photo if I could, but night-time photos always turn out dark and dull, and are nothing worth looking at.

And you would hold it up to me and say "Why did you bother? That was nothing so wonderful or beautiful."

And I would wish you had been here and seen it with me, because then you would know how beautiful the rain can be.

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Cluttercut - Be the change