Rain for flowers. And rain for me.

It is supposed to rain all week. But this rain is not the kind that makes me slump. This rain and I have a special secret. We know about wild flower seeds and spring rainbows. We know about all the hard work I put into my garden this week, and the beauty that will unfold after it’s long quenching drink.

And best of all, we walked down a winding trail yesterday with heaps and mounds and scatters of bluebell buds. Through the very spot in Ravenna Park we always go but I had no eyes to see. No knowledge or thought that these leaves held a purple carpet in the spring.

But now I am here –I think it has been waiting for me all along– and I am ready for them.

The other day I read that the brain stores good and bad memories in two different places. When you have sleep deprivation, it attacks the good part. I thought, that makes sense! It’s so hard for me to remember good things when I am depressed. When it rains and is dark and I have been up tossing. So I told myself I will try to remember good things no matter what. There is an evil force at work when I am deprived of light and sleep. And I even have a hard time seeing good all around me. I look at my house and see the mess. I see the hard things in relationship. The work and not the play. Something awful keeps me from seeing beauty. Ever so hidden beauty, yet for those who would believe, it is most certainly there. So when we went on our walk the other day I promised myself to SEE.

And there were the bluebell buds, the thing that has me smiling on this grey day.

When this rain is over I shall walk two blocks to the entrance of my forest, where a ruby humming bird and a meadow of trillium stand waiting to inspect sojourners, and I shall lead my little brood over the wooden bridges spanning through awakening leaves, and we will finally drink in our very own bluebell wood: a thing I have wanted and longed for and only ever seen once in Scotland shall be at my finger tips. As soon as this. Rain. Is. Over.

Until then I am snug in my embroidered flower sweater and the rain is watercoloring my pigmented dreams.

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2 thoughts on “Rain for flowers. And rain for me.

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