Dreaming of Rain

I have always loved the rain. I love the sound that it makes on the trees outside my bedroom window in Mohnton, I love the music it elicits as it hits the surface of Lake Champlain, I love the smell of the atmosphere when it is bursting with promised precipitation, and I love the sight of fat Carolina raindrops dripping from the crepe myrtle surrounding the front porch.

They say you don't know how much you appreciate something until you don't have it. Well, I find that it is possible to truly appreciate something, but that makes the loss all the more jarring.

I have not seen a drop of rain in over a month.

And this is only the beginning of my stay in the arid Red Center.

For a week or so, we've seen some pretty promising clouds roll in, but every day is as dry as the days before, as dry as the days to come.

So I dream about rain.

The first dream was shortly after I arrived. I dreamt that I was inside a house, in a basement or something, and I heard rain pattering on the road outside. I struggled to find my way out of the house, listening to the growing crescendo of pounding rain and crashing thunder. I wanted to get outside so badly, but I couldn't find my way. I would catch glimpses out of windows of the glorious precipitation, but they were just flashes. When I finally got to a door, I opened it and the storm ceased instantly. No more thunder, no more rain, just steam rising from the road and a couple of lazy puddles.

The next dream came shortly after my first visit to the Claypans. The rain in this dream was gentle and caressing, and the water made the clay extra slippery and the kids were all laughing and sliding around in the mud, tilting their faces towards the sky and catching rain drops in their open mouths.

Now, most of my dreams have rain somewhere in them, in the background. Streaming down the window, forming puddles for me to step over, filling the dry Todd River bed, dancing around on the windshield as I drive somewhere, but always with the surreal quality of dreaming.

And every morning, I look outside and the world is as dry as the last time I looked at it.

I am grateful for the dreams, but I long for rain.