It’s Raining, It’s Pouring
It’s raining on the mountain and raining in the valley, raining on the ridge tops and raining in the heavens. On the 13 mile drive home after women’s singing night up at the coffeehouse, thick fog rolls and settles in every dip in the road. I summit Pumpkin Patch and get a moment of clear sight, then dip back down into the clouds as if the world had turned upside down.
At home, the lower portion of the driveway is washed out again, a visible creek running down through a five-inch deep gouge in the gravel that’s been carved by today’s torrid downpours. The truck heaves and wobbles but with the new set of tires, I can crawl at a safer pace without spinning out. I round the last bend which is a blind curve before the last steep incline and see that a giant branch has fallen across the driveway. I have about 8/10 of a second to react, which means I don’t, and therefore drive over the branch before I even realize what I’m doing, it snaps beneath the truck without a flinch and I accelerate to make the final climb.
Inside, I am dry and protected but not a hint of light exists anywhere. Even the fireflies have bunkered down for the night or drowned in the mess of things outside. It is total and utter blackness. I notice immediately the loud sound of rushing water. It sounds as if someone is drawing a bath, only the water pressure is much too high for that. I realize quickly that it’s the overflow from the spring, which usually surges out at a rhythmic rate, gushing as if in time to a metronome. But tonight, it runs wild and fast, as loud as a creek tumbling over rocks, and there is not a moment of pause in the gushing.
It is abundance all over again. An excess of darkness, a world of water; sights and sounds to fill and chill the heart depending on how you look at it.