I love the rain
It’s 2pm and we have no electricity. It happens, especially at this time of year. Summer here means unforgiving heat and unforgiving rain, the latter often bringing chaos and disaster.
I can hear a cascade of droplets splashing outside my window. It’s a soothing sound; it’s my favorite sound. Then I think of how it’s a harbinger of sorrow to so many people and my mood sours.
But it’s not really the rain’s fault, is it? There’s a cause for all this pain and, as usual, it’s human greed. The floods, the precarious living conditions. Rain has nothing to do with that.
Nature has no malice, nature just is. It exists beyond concepts of morals and ethics, holds no grudges, shows no contempt, can’t be blamed or held responsible.
I started reading Leslie Feinberg’s Stone Butch Blues a couple days ago and a specific line has been stuck in my head. I think of it now, it goes:
“Nature held me close and seemed to find no fault with me.”
As I listen to the pitter-patter, this incomprehensible language of water, all I can think of is that I feel held and cared for by hands that are beyond human comprehension.
I really do love the rain.