At six o'clock the humid hazy day that was coming to a close broke off with a warm and gentle summer rain, barely releasing itself but for a few drops now and then on the pages of the book I was reading.   I had regrets at having to close the book, but breathed deeply of the moist air and looked out at the lush green in the garden with pleasure.   A summer rain.





I brought the book into the safety of the house and began to prepare dinner.   After putting the dish in the oven I again went outside to refill the bird feeder; the birds had been quiet for the past hour but early morning they would find their daily fare waiting for them.   It wasn't that I was so concerned about the birds, but was more that I was feeling a little melancholy and the soft rain drops were feeding that emotion; I was one with the elements, or so I felt at that moment.   This is the sort of rain that evokes dreams and wishes and memories, all pleasant.   Memories of a summer rain.





Have you ever been kissed in the rain?   Yes, again a summer rain.   Two people at midnight, walking through the parkland with the scent of the damp earth strong, soft and warm droplets gently landing on cheeks and noses, and he stops and turns to face her, cupping her face in the palms of his two large hands, he leans down to softly brush the raindrops from her forehead with his gentle lips, finally to place butterfly kisses on her lips, pure kisses with no other motive than to express love and affection.   Kisses in a summer rain.





Those were the most memorable kisses I've ever had, by far.   The most memorable walk on the beach was in a summer rain also.   I had gone for a walk by myself on a cloudy afternoon along a part of the beach that was a mixture of sand with rocky outcroppings.   They were interesting rocks with deep indentations in them that would fill with sea water and tiny little colourful tropical fish.   From time to time I would stop, sit on the rocks, and just watch the sparkle of the fish when the light hit them.   Then I got up and walked a little further on.   At one point my future husband came up and joined me and together, hand in hand, we walked for miles along the white beach as the soft summer rain of the Caribbean began to fall.   This was not a normal occurrence there.   Most of the rains were cloudbursts that came fast and drenching in seconds and left just as quickly with the sun blazing again.   No, this was not that sort of rain, but a soft and gentle shower that felt refreshing and cool.   Lovers in a summer rain.





Years later, there were children and visits to the cottage of an aunt of mine each summer, and it would invariably rain for days at a time.   Indoor games by the fire on chilly days soon paled the moment a warm day arrived, rain or not.   We would pile into the canoe with our lunch for a cookout protected under a tarpaulin.   Two children, the dog, me and three or four paddles, and off we would go for the day, knowing we were going to spend it wet but loving the freedom of being on the water with no particular destination.   Sometimes we would cross the small lake and seek out blueberry bushes to gather our stock for a summer pie.   Other times we would head for the river and paddle down the gentle waters to the waterfall where we would exit the canoe and build our campfire, cook the weinies, fill our bellies and then play in the frigid water from the spring-fed falls, with children's voices ringing as they echoed back and forth from the rocks rising high above us.   Coming home was always tough, trying to paddle against the river currents.   But we always did get home, tired and wet -- happy little campers we were!   Children learning to love the summer rain.





Some of those chilly days at the cottage you would just feel the dire need to get out and experience the deep forest.   I would don a raincoat with a hood and head out the back, going deeper and deeper into the forest.   I would climb over rocks and up steep inclines, over fallen trees -- and always with the blueberry pail to collect any that had been missed on earlier rambles.   I loved the forest on a rainy day.   The scent of lush green and damp earth is a very sensual experience.   The quiet, when you stood still, produced a humble feeling in your heart as you peered up to the tops of the mighty trees.   And, finally, coming back toward the lake and the massive rocks at its edge, sitting high above the water and looking out through the mist enshrouding everything.   It's highly ethereal.   I have sat there for over an hour meditating on the greatness of the earth, the inate peace and love that is meant to be, before the sudden call of the loon rising from the mist reminds me it is time to go home, time to go home from the forest in a summer rain.






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