“The best thing one can do when it’s raining is to let it rain.”

— Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Just as I walked downstairs this morning, a loud clattering began in the living room.  What on earth could it be, I wondered, and then I realized it was rain — not just your ordinary, soft, soaking rain, but the sort that threatens to shatter the windows and overflows the gutters and downspouts.  I don’t recall seeing any lightning, but soon I heard thunder rumbling along the mountain a few miles away.

Yesterday was the long-awaited spring day that had eluded us since the groundhog promised an early end to winter.  The breeze was soft and warm and by afternoon I had shed my jacket and let the air touch my bare arms for the first time in months.  And now it is raining.  I close my eyes and listen to the percussion as it lands on windows and splashes away from the tires of cars that fly by on the street.  With each whoosh, I imagine that the last vestiges of winter are being washed away.  The remaining cinders from the salt trucks are carried to the storm drains and swept along toward the vast ocean at the end of the river’s journey.  Even the cars and trucks look brand new as they are washed and brightened by the storm that promises a fresh start to all the world.

I look into my backyard and see that not a spot of snow remains.  The lilacs are beginning to bud with more vigor, and their branches are beginning to look more green than brown.  The garden plot rests patiently, its soil enriched by the decomposition of winter; and my thoughts turn to the coming days when I will till and plant and begin the cycle of growth once again.

There is little we can do when it rains but let it rain; although we can celebrate the rain and be grateful for all that water brings to our lives.  I must excuse myself now.  The rain has softened a bit, and I just may have to go dance for a while and let my eyes be rinsed of the last gray of winter so that they can open fully to the colors of Spring.