a place of your own
I woke up to wonderful booms of thunder and lightning flashing through the sky early in the morning. Instant happiness. The air was so warm, humid, and charged with electricity, that it felt like the middle of June. I almost expected to find a lush summer garden when I went out the door.
I love the rain. Not the miserable November drizzle that can’t make up its mind whether to freeze or not, but the powerful downpours of summer, when the gloomy sky is ripped open by thunderbolts and the rain falls to the earth in sheets, not drops, and you can hear its drumbeat on the roof.
If you have been gardening for a while, the sheer amount of energy nature puts out to generate a summer storm humbles you. You can almost feel the plants’ eagerness for rain, and you get a little jealous, because you just watered them, not an hour ago.
You can’t compete with the water from the skies and millions of years of plant evolution, and the powerful downpour makes you feel like a sparrow hatching condor eggs.
I went to the garden and came to terms with the fact that it is still March, and the expectations of luxuriant foliage were a little unrealistic.