Each drop, from lonely skyfall to merging with their bretherin within the rain soaked ground, had given themselves to gravity with the faith of the gang-plank walker and the luck of the angels.
Once we were soaked on that jog home, what was there to do but jump in the puddles? Once you are so very wet, surely it's time to have a little fun. So we jumped right in with both feet, watching the newly released spheres of muddy water fly. Each of them was an airborne gift and we could hear the happiness inside one another without saying a word. Instead we whooped and giggled at our own brilliant silliness. The rain kept on coming, the earth utterly soaked in its nutrient marinade, the trees taking a long drink now the rains have come.
And from that rain soaked ground came such life, the plants that grew so strong in the bountiful rays. The water was liquid magic and the Earth was the richness and nurture for the flower-given seeds. Without the rain it is only mud, without the earth it is only water; together they are a sort of cozy joy, a tingle of hope and of good things to come.
The rain has soaked the ground as good as Nana's rum in Christmas cake. It's everything from sweet caramel to the kind of hearty brown that gives a frisson of joy inside. There's something about that water, that reservoir so deep, that feels cozy even in this early spring.
As my sole touches the earth, my toes are bathed in the newly bequeathed rain. It gurgles, bubbling as I walk, soothing in its coolness.
The rain has quenched the soil from sandy hues to rich, strong browns, the kind that brings an inner smile. There's a shine when sun-rays bounce back, as seeds of brilliance among the grass. This is that time, when the newly warmed soil breathes life, when together the sun and rain bring a new exuberance to nature.
One spade into the mud shows how much water is there, running in to fill the hole.
Though the grass looks normal, one step forward reveals the clear water it holds. After the rains her sole brings it up, soaking her foot. Lila removes her socks and shoes and dances across it in happy splashes to the awaiting schoolyard.
Over the mud that can take in no more rain, runs a new river as if it were suddenly dreamed into reality.
The mud is pitted and without a single print - just the same as it is after snowfall but deep brown. It isn't pristine of course, but the fragrance of the pines above is so fresh it invites us to pause and take in the moment.
The soil that was baked so hard last summer is now soft with rain water, every step causing a temporary puddle. What was pale brown is dark, what was tarnished green is virescent. With the heavy clouds comes life and after the deluge the sun is always at its brightest.
After the spring rains you don't even have to dig to reach the water table. All you have to do is stand on the mud and water bubbles over your boots.
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