Mist

An Australian friend recently started a blog. Her tribute to the dreaded sultana (or raisin), is an absolute corker, which left me almost breathless with laughter. Her site also has a permanent weather feature, detailing the forecasts for Adelaide, Vancouver and somewhere in Iceland, I think. The assurance that I take a daily peek at her site, has now strengthened, on the basis that it has been raining since the early hours of this morning, and only her weather source seemed to have predicted that...so thanks.
Now, when I say rain, it is really more of a persistent mist. I actually love the rain and we certainly get our fair share of it over here; so perhaps I am in the right place - although the sheer quantity of local rain can get a little tiresome after a while.
In Adelaide, the suburban landscape tended to look tired during the long harsh summers. Even the resistant gum trees appeared to shut down in a way; hanging their exhausted limbs in an apparent attempt to preserve their energies. A dose of rain brought more than relief. It brought colour and life, and also an abundance of noisy birds taking delight in refreshed birdbaths and replenished ponds and puddles. A long awaited shower of rain is a gift not only to the plants and animals, but also to the beholder's eye.
It was still raining when I went outside to open the park gate this morning. I chose not to shy away from my dawn inspired wanderings in preference for the cozy comfort offered by my warm bed, but to take my morning walk and let the rain and crisp morning air touch me like a cool flannel dabbed over a feverish child's face.
There was sadness in my heart, and I was needing the silent nurturing of the gentle mist, so I walked. I walked slowly, solemnly, alone and silent....for a hour. I think I saw only three others doing the same. The first was a can and bottle collector carrrying a large sack on her back; scurrying through bins with quiet purpose. The next was a man walking a tan coloured dog that might have been more enthusiastic in years prior to acquiring that grey tinge of fur nestling prominantly under his chin, betraying the dog's age, as if his tender-footed gait had not already. The third was a determined looking woman. She powered past me in the opposite direction, making eye contact and tilting her head in acknowledgement before quipping a motivated and cheery "Good morning" as we passed each other by.
Towards the end of my walk, a glint of gold had begun to brush the outer edges of far flung eastern clouds, and I once again found myself baffled as to why I had previously slept at this hour, choosing instead to miss the world awakening with renewed energy.
I find the rain equally rejuvenating in both a literal, and symbolical sense. It is almost as though the anxieties of the past are being carried away with the dried fallen leaves and small twigs that had blown into the gutter, leaving a clear and shimmering surface from which one can plant new thougths, and allow new discoveries to flourish and thrive, just as The Maker had intended. There is hope in that, and with faith I walk proudly and bravely into the strenthening light of a new day.