Rain at Footlights…

We’ve had a dry spring at Footlights.

It seems that when the forecast is promising rain our little neck of the woods gets nothing so I have to drag my hose around my beds and water the latest newcomers that I allow a year to establish themselves.

This week we had a run of storms.

There was a cracking storm one afternoon.  It was phenomenal with loud outbursts that had the cats, usually nonplussed by the Texas volatility, running for shelter as if fleeing an invisible predator.

Apparently 3 1/2 inches of rain fell in 90 minutes.  My friend a few miles away, got nothing!

Later that afternoon we met some people in a nearby town for dinner.  The sky was clear.

While we were enjoying our burgers a freak hailstorm came up and dimpled our car with tiny dents.  Later we discovered that the hail had been confined to a small area which included the unhappy spot where we had parked.

At the weekend more rain came to Footlights.  I was sitting on my porch reading and heard it first.  The rush of water across the treetops at the bottom of my drive.

I called hubs and together we listened to its approach; halfway up the pasture we could begin to see it as it broke from the woods and steadily came closer, clattering on the river rock, tip-toeing across the Indian Blanket, splashing on the concrete pathway, thudding on the grass, swishing through the Vitex, until it arrived, hammering on the metal roof above our porch anxious to get in.

Simultaneously water began running along the gutters and rushing down the drain pipes smacking the slabs of rock before slithering off into the beds like a startled snake.

Under its arms it brought a strong wind and cool temperatures.

I looked at my watch and imagined we would be in for a two minute pass over but I was wrong.

Several miles behind it there followed a storm that took a full hour to clear.  I couldn’t help thinking of the angel of death that passed over Egypt killing all the first born on the eve of the Exodus. There was no escape.

No matter where we sat the storm was over us carrying on and on and on eastward through the back forty woods.

The drone of rain on trees, wind running wild and the welcome drop in temperature distracted me sufficiently from my book.  I put it down and gave the storm my full attention.

The smell of wet soil and mulch drifted over me and the cool air gave me goosebumps as I sat and listened and marvelled at the life renewing deluge.

A tarantula came out from her hiding place and slowly crept up the screen door catching the cats’ eyes as she took shelter under the awning.

Once the rain had stopped she took off over the grass hunting, pausing now and again to take her bearings, before disappearing in the shadowy places.

It wasn’t a peaceful hour, no silence; there were no show off thunder claps or lightening moments like the cracking storm of last afternoon; there was an inner peace that filled me like the quiet voice of God in the throes of natural violence.

I savoured the smells at the back of my tongue, watched the butterflies sheltering motionless in the branches.

When the final drop had fallen on the fresh spring leaves causing them to shudder as if a hummingbird had just danced by, when the storm had shaken her mantle and vanished eastward,

I sat back and drew a deep breath.


Thank you Lord for the gift of rain that brings nature alive and lifts my spirits;

Thank you for the beauty of the property you showed us eight years ago and made ours for a season;

Thank you for the wind hovering over us and murmuring your prayers for us.

Thank you Lord for embracing us with a forever hug from heaven.



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