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Water Meeting Water

April 13, 2016
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It turns out three days in bed with typhoid is more than enough sleep for awhile and so I lie awake with the coming and the going of the rain.
The rains come at night now, crescendoing and falling away in turn, full and heavy on the tin roof, then slowly stopping: a drop here, a drop there. Until they build again, a roar of water and wind, and again, away to near silence except for the slow drip-drop from the edge of the roof, the pitter-patter falling from the gutter. Where have you come from? Where are you going? I imagine a drop falling from an everlasting sky to land on silver tin, running together, water meeting water, falling from the edge of the rooftop, catching the edge of a leaf, running together, water meeting water, to land softly on the welcoming earth, water meeting water.
I feel small under the weight of noise and water: a good, right kind of small.
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If I were a different sort of mother I would pull my daughter out of bed and take her out in the night and stand in the rain and let the water run down our faces, those drops from the everlasting sky, let them run down our arms and down our fingertips, to fall to the welcoming earth, water meeting water.
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All I know of rain and weather is a picture from an old I-Can-Read Science. A picture with the ocean and sunny skies above and then a black raincloud over the land, rivers flowing down mountains and meeting the sea, arrows going up and down and all around to show water rising to the sky and returning again. All I remember thinking whenever I read that book to one of my children is how eternally comforting it is, to know nothing is ever lost. One small drop of water, swallowed to the earth, spending itself, rising, rising, rising, welcomed home, flung out all over again. I imagine the drops of water falling on my house have come from rivers I love, imagine maybe the water evaporating in the afternoon sun tomorrow will fly and flip and dance and twirl its way to a rain cloud above the head of someone I love, and fall on them.
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And then maybe she’d remember a night in the rain, when I got just her out of bed, when we stood in the ever-dark and drenched ourselves in the glory of it, she’d remember that and she’d know without a doubt she was so very, very loved.
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Does the moisture in the roots of the ficus, settling itself in the darkness of the ground, know it is eternal? Does the water in the ocean, bumping against itself a trillion times over, know it will rise? Does the raindrop, falling effortlessly to this awful earth, know the work it will be asked to do? Cleanse us, grow us, enliven us, cool us, sustain us, quench our dying thirst. Does the stream, gurgling its journey onward, know where it will end? Does the droplet, clinging to the edge of the leaf, know it will be reborn?
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I will return to my bed, and sleep. I won’t get her out of bed. The rain has stopped, at least for now. It is the time for sleep.
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But tomorrow, I’ll tell her. About how the rains came in the night and I couldn’t sleep and and I lay there and thought about water, and about her. About taking her out in the rain and twirling around a couple of times and mostly standing still. About water falling and rising again and nothing ever, ever being lost.

We will go about our day and we will go through our same motions, finding and missing each other as we do. If it rains tomorrow night, as surely it will, she might awaken, and think of me, too.

And then maybe someday, she will read this. And she will know: water meeting water, you are so very, very loved.

5 Comments leave one →
  1. April 13, 2016 5:40 pm

    I heard the rain on the tin roof. I can hear it still.

  2. Mark Lewis permalink
    April 15, 2016 12:24 am

    Sandy loves the rain. When Scott and Kathryn were little, she would take them outside on our back deck and dance to the music of the raindrops. Must run in the fam.

  3. piries permalink
    April 18, 2016 5:38 pm

    “I imagine the drops of water falling on my house have come from rivers I love, imagine maybe the water evaporating in the afternoon sun tomorrow will fly and flip and dance and twirl its way to a rain cloud above the head of someone I love, and fall on them.”… it is the hot season here – praying for some rain and will be thinking of you when it begins to fall and that maybe, just maybe it is a little bit from your mountain coming to touch our hearts. Love you.

    • April 18, 2016 8:07 pm

      that’s a perfect thought. we are getting plenty, I’ll send some your way.

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