Blogging for no apparent reason

My wonderfully eloquent husband will be contributing here on occasion.  This is his first addition.

The rain is here with us this morning, again.  The rain is here with us often during these winter days, along with its close companions the grey clouds and the grey waves.  Some people peer into the sky these winter days and, from all their non-spoken language, one can see that these souls are eloquently pleading for a day without the rain.

As of now, the rain falls downward, as any self-respecting rain traditionally does.  But just a few moments ago, I saw the rain falling very nearly sideways, almost as if gravity were playing a trick on us to see, after all these billions of years of the traditional downward fall, if anyone was still paying attention.

And yet, no matter these small and entertaining caprices of the wet, people scurry away from it, to their homes, to their tables, to their books, to whatever is of comfort to them. But I have begun to see the rain differently, I think.  And, as I see the rain through new eyes, I wonder if the whales beneath the nearby waves know that it’s raining too.

To be sure, there are many days in this part of the world, this little green and silver stretch where the water and the land touch, when it does not rain.  These are the days along this little stretch that would make a postcard jealous.

Sometimes, perhaps even often, it is neither too cold nor too warm at the ocean’s translucent jade edge, with our giant golden star illuminating everything around in a comfortable and easy light.  As with the temperature, that light is neither too bright nor too dim.  It is simply perfect, so perfect that perhaps no one ponders if things might somehow have been less than perfection just the day before.

In those moments, the whales appear, as if summoned by this confluence of perfection.  One might easily believe that whales outnumber humans here during these instances.  These aquiline giants who dwell amongst the waves but breathe the air show no fear of us as they surface, just a stone’s throw away, blowing spouts of water vapor into the sky as rays of sunlight glint off their backs, and then they return momentarily to the space of their liquid world.

It makes me question how often these gentle grey titans have slipped silently past me, unnoticed, gliding fluidly beneath the concealing jade and foam of the surface, viewing me even as I continued on my way, unaware of their presence.  I wonder if the whales wonder about us, as we wonder about them.

Behind me there are mountains, covered in innumerable and seemingly ageless evergreens.  They stand above me even now, serene and beautiful in their emerald millions, sentinels who gaze down upon me as they always have, these colossal plants who observed as apes became astronauts.  Whatever we humans become after today, these sentinels will ceaselessly and soundlessly bear witness to the change, come the sunlight or come the rain.

And on this winter day, there is rain.  I have heard the rain described as a baptism of the earth itself, a downpour of expiation to wash away the sins of this world.  And yet, I see the waves, the whales, the mountains and the innumerable ancient green sentinels upon them, and it seems to me that this world does not need so much forgiveness as we imagine.  I see the rain falling upon the whales and upon the trees alike, falling upon me, and I do not see expiation.  I see rejuvenation, for surely those perfect moments filled with just-right golden light are, like the whales, no more than a stone’s throw away in time, on the other side of the rain, because of the rain.

The rain is here with us this morning, again, and I feel life.

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