Rain Walk

I needed the walk so why let a slow gentle Georgia rain stop me? Raindrops pattered on my water resistant hood, a soothing sound. Following my usual track around our circular driveway, I pushed my walker under the Indonesian cherry tree. The road there was strewn thick with the tree’s burgundy blossoms. Just beyond, pink and white Japanese magnolia petals floated down to paste themselves against wet pavement. Newly fallen ones are bright but they soon develop brown edges and resemble discarded dance slippers. The fragrance of Japanese magnolias was subtle but very much alive in a light, exotic way.

Up the other side of the circle a thick hedge of reeds leaned over the driveway, heavy with rain that had been falling since morning. The patter of drops was louder on my hood as I walked under the bamboo foliage. A cool streak developed down the middle of my back. Brittle stems rattled against each other in a breeze.

A flurry of snowdrops bloomed at the turn of the circle. Their whiteness shown distinctly amongst a tangle of last year’s dry lantana branches. White coral bells upon a slender stalk, Lilies of the valley deck my garden walk. Oh, how I wish that I could hear them ring; That will happen only when the fairies sing. An old song lilted through my head as if my sisters and I were still singing it in a round, giggling when we got mixed up about which line we should be on.

I stopped to take in the lovely spectacle of a jasmine vine in full yellow bloom climbing high on a pine tree behind our mailbox. It never bloomed last year but now it’s like sunshine in the rain, tiny blossoms as abundant as stars in the sky. Someone said it is a Carolina jasmine. I’ve seen the vine climbing amongst wild growth along roadsides.

Walking under tall magnolia trees, I could hear raindrops hit glossy leaves with almost a metallic ping. Drops slid from one leaf to another falling eventually to the long brittle leaves of iron lilies before soaking into the earth.

One gorgeous camellia still blooms by the basketball goal. The blossoms weigh limbs down in luxuriant beauty. I call it the Valentine camellia because it always blooms mid-February and because it warms the heart like the sudden surprise of a dozen red roses. I can see the bush clearly from our kitchen window but observing the delicate blossoms in their intricate pink variations, up close and personal, is so much better.

Bertha, our gray and white cat, wandered up and wound herself between my walker wheels, brushing against my legs. Then she walked a round or two with me. Cats really don’t dislike water as much as people think. Of course it was a very light rain, not a downpour.

I completed six rounds while, even in gloves, my hands turned to ice. Back inside, I was pleasantly warmed and cheered by a cozy fire and a cup of hot cocoa with Charles.

Ask the Lord for rain in the springtime; it is the Lord who sends the thunderstorms. He gives showers of rain to all people, and plants of the field to everyone. Zechariah 10:1