“I’ll be back in a few minutes, sweetie.” I said, getting up from the comfy chair in which I had just been sitting, composing the next prompt for this community. “I’m thinking, since it has been raining all day, I’ll catch some pictures of the garden for the prompt.” I gave my love a little squeeze and wandered out to the living room to survey the weather and grab my camera.

I went to the sliding glass door, and peered through the foggy glass to the patio outside. Rain had started to pour down since I had last looked, and the cement was starting to flood over. “I suppose that means photographs are out,” I thought to myself. “Oh well. It has been a while since I’ve wandered in the rain.” I donned my weatherbeaten brown leather hat, slid the door open, and stepped out, clad elsewise only in a tanktop, shorts, and sandals. (A daring feat, for one living in the woods, in front of a swamp. Only to be attempted during heavy rain, storms, high winds, or late fall through early spring, lest you become a mosquito feast.)

After the 95 degree weather we had been having, the air felt wonderful. It was warm, but it had cooled considerably, and a gentle breeze rustled through my hair. The rain poured down and ran over me in big, warm, fat drops. I smiled and closed my eyes, sighing, breathing in the smell of fresh earth and clean air.

I strolled slowly off the porch, listening to the sound of the raindrops beating down upon the trees, the earth, drumming on the roof. They sang and chimed as they fell into the pools of the water garden, and drummed out a rhythm on the large, green leaves of the thriving hostas all around it. In the distance, thunder rolled, a gentle purr, almost a sound of contentment.
The water cascaded down the waterfalls of the pool, whatever the pools could not hold, overflowing and gently running down the hill into the woods below. Clay-clouded puddles swirled the color of cream in coffee, stirred by the makeshift stream.

The drenching drops felt SO good against my skin and hair. I doffed my hat, and smiled up at the sky, tasting the sweetness of the summer rain on my lips. Quickly my hair was soaked, and clung to my skin in small curls. I gathered it off the back of my neck and over one shoulder, so it wouldn’t stick to me so, and shivered happily as I was greeted with cool drops, and the kiss of the wind at the nape of my neck.

I wandered up the path, through the garden, just drinking in the sights around me. Heavy blooms of daylilies hung their heads, or tilted them back to the sky, heavy with the sudden rain. Tiny crystalline drops clung to the pure white petals of the daises, sparkling like jewels. The ferns, which had been wilting and dry the day before, looked vibrant and lush, almost as if celebrating the rain. Every small hair on my tomato plants sparkled with raindrops, and the tomatoes looked as if they’d plumped up in a matter of moments, drinking in all the fresh water.
The tiny, fragile babies of my garden, the basil and lavender, were nearly flattened from the heavy drops, and were splattered with mud. They would be much better for the abuse, however, once the pounding stopped.

An ancient beech in the front yard became a waterfall, the heavy rain cascading swiftly down its
smooth, grey bark. I put a hand against its warm trunk, and laughed softly, despite myself, as the cool water flowed around my fingers and down my arm. I ran the fingertips of both hands through the cascade, enjoying the feel of becoming part of its path.

After a moment, I turned and walked down the hill past the front flower beds. The soft, ankle high grass lay flattened to the ground, like a green river. As I stepped down the hill, I realized it had become just that, as the water came up over my sandals. It had been a while since I had walked barefoot in the rain, so I smiled and laughed to myself, stepping out of my sandals and into the living river. The feel of the soft grass, earth warmed water, and the give of the sodden earth beneath my feet was amazing. I wandered through rivers and ankle deep pools, savoring the sensation. Small frogs and toadlings hopped out of my way as I explored, seeking places among the roots of the massive, old maple, that were safe from raindrops and giant feet. On the bark of the old tree, a pure white moth climbed, its wings fluttering furiously to keep dry. I took my hat and sheltered it from the rain for a few moments, watching as it stopped fluttering, and climbed thankfully into a small dry crevice, spreading its wings to dry. Content it was safe, I turned to take in the front flower beds I had neared.

By the road, a lone, night-blooming variety of daylily had opened its vibrant orange petals to the deluge, comfortable under the dimness of the steel-grey sky. I ran my fingers over its silken petals and stared out into the haze of sheeting water that hung in amongst the trees, obscuring from view everything that lay beyond them.

The rain began to abate slowly, and I walked back toward the house, content, peaceful, feeling newly baptized by the elements… and swatting at the inevitable mosquitoes that found their way through the slackening raindrops.