Nothing to do About Rain


It’s a rainy cold morning here on my hilltop. I took this picture off my deck just moments ago. The wide eaves of the house don’t allow for the traditional rainy day view. There are no raindrop laced windows to sell the mood. As you can see, the trees and fence are wet and a light mist rises from the distant lowland.

What is absent is the traditional wet pavement, umbrella’d pedestrians and sense of hurry and caution. There is no tranquil park for lovers to stroll in rain-soaked clothes, warmed by their hearts and lost in the moment.

The only signs of my being is the fence that keeps the dog in and the coyotes out. The hay field in it’s early spring awakening and the quarter mile long driveway that has nowhere to go today.

I suppose if I was a city folk, I would possibly find refuge in a type of brownstone, homogeneously tucked away among a dozen more. I would have a large rain-laced window to sit and ponder the lovers and umbrella’d pedestrians as they cautiously navigate the rain-soaked streets. I would wonder where they find refuge and what busyness drew them away from it on this rainy day.

Until recent, I lived in town far longer than I was ever meant to. And I have to admit, I spent little if any time in front of raindrop laced windows pondering anything. I did not take time to observe the silliness of lovers nor did I care about where all the umbrella’d pedestrians might seek refuge.

All that I knew was refuge was temporary and fleeting. I found it whenever I could, tucked between 12 hour shifts in ICU. Pedestrians were replaced with bodies, many many bodies. Raindrops were replaced with the blood and tears of lovers now faced with lose.

It will take some time on this hilltop and a lot of rain to wash away the blood and tears, to silence the weeping of lovers and to allow me to ponder where all those umbrella’d pedestrians might find refuge.

These are the truths as I know them; The rain will always come. The coyotes will always want inside of your fences. There will always be more bodies. Refuge is in the heart, whether on a hilltop or tucked away in a Brownstone.

As for those lovers, well that would be me and my wife. And I can’t wait to stroll in the rain, warmed by our hearts, lost in the moment. I love you Sateash

“I recently retired after 25 years in healthcare/critical care.  My truth; I am a carpenter, I am a writer, I am no longer a warrior…my war is over.”



4 thoughts on “Nothing to do About Rain

  1. You’re truly waxing poetic. You are right when you say you are a writer. Thanks for sharing your thoughts. Keep them coming . You are as much an artist with words as you are with wood.

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