It's Father's Day...

and It's Raining

There is something special, almost spiritual, about rain. We depend on its waters of life to sustain us, to nurture our plants and to fill our rivers and lakes. The talking heads on TV (they call themselves meteorologists, as if it were a science) spend as much time mis-predicting the occurence of rain as they do world news (Hey, this isn't rocket science. Rain is caused by washing your car). And we all react diferently to it.

Rain is the quintessential spoiler of picnics...for some. For others, it is that crappy wet stuff they have to run through in order to catch a bus or bring in the morning paper. It gets your good suit or dress messy just before you get to that imortant business meeting. And not let's get into what it does to our perfectly combed hair.

But, bitch and moan as some might, there are those of us who relish the precipitated moister that falls from the sky. Count me among them.



As a photographer, I can tell you that nothing diffuses light better than a steady rain, and the color saturation right after it stops is wonderful. And what could be finer than to be out paddling on a warm day and be showered with a refreshing rain fall?

Besides, rain is cheaper than antidepressants. It slows us down. It causes us to sit on front porches to...well, to just sit and watch. Like watching the waves crashing ashore or the licks of flames from a bonfire, there is something about rain that speaks to the soul...if you will just slow down and take the time to watch it.

Interesting, isn't it, how such low-tech stuff rivets our attention and imagination? It's hard wired into our brains. Not the neo cortex part that produces computers and digital cameras, but a "lower" more primitive brain. The one that connects us to earth, wind, water and fire. The part that connects us to the rest of what populates the planet, like the animals that forever seek the next water hole. How do I know all this?



I remember a time, in high school english, when we studied a poem. I do not remember its name or the details, and that doesn't matter. I remember its lesson. It was when I learned that rain can cleanse and wash away things I would like to be rid of.

The poem told of a horrible time during which bad things happened and people suffered. Just when it seemed things couldn't get worse, the bad things stopped, and the poem ended by saying, "...and then it rained."

I miss you Dad.
Paddle safe.
DS