When The Rain Falls

                      When the Rain Falls

       It is the beginning, of the first line of lyrics, to a favored Beatle’s tune. The phrase always makes me smile in remembrance. I have always loved the rain. Silvery sheets of glistening water cascading down on everything in view. There is something soft about the rain, a feeling of ease that gives one over to reverie. When the big winds drive the rain, it can be harsh. Large sloshes of water crashing laterally against the window panes. At those times, you relish being inside, safe, dry and secure. But the elemental power of the rain is still fascinating.

           In western Eire and northern Scotland, where it rains almost daily, they wear woolens, even in the cool summers, so that when they are caught in the daily rains, they still are warm and dry. The locals call the rain a “fine soft day” and appreciate the nurturing effects that the water has on their nearby fields.

          As a youngster, we used to sit in small, wooden cottages, on the Brant Indian Reservation in Irving New York, south of Buffalo, N.Y.. We could look down the considerable length of Lake Erie, almost all the way to Toledo, way off to the west. The coming storm would first appear on the horizon as small black smudges with electrical fields bristling around them. As the storm gathered strength and speed, the sky got darker and the jagged bolts of lightning more prominent. It was both eerie and amazing to watch the elemental power of this phenomenon of nature. When it finally did arrive, it was almost anticlimactic. The huge Oak trees, standing like leafy sentinels along the shore, would sway and twist in a sodden, oaken ballet that was fun to watch. Great sheets of water would drum upon the fragile roof and drench the surrounding sands. Lake Erie’s shallow waves would whip up into a white-crested froth and smash upon the sandy coast. The event was loud, exciting and fun.

          Many times, over the years, I have thought of those electrical storms and how they fascinated my youthful self. I have never yet ridden out a full-scale hurricane, like Irma, that just hammered the Caribbean and Florida. That must be a terrifying experience to feel the unbridled force of Mother nature, an expanding and swirling force that can and did sweep everything man-made before it, like so many straws fluttering in the wind.  I suppose, like most things in life, it depends on where you are sitting in the grand card game of life. You have to play the cards that you are dealt. Gentle rain is comforting. Hurricane and tornadic winds are fearful.

      Still, on a warm afternoon, when a gentle rain silvers down upon me, it is restful and pleasant for me to watch and remember. It is one more gift from the heavens, for us to experience and enjoy on our journey through the ages.

                                                                   -30-

                                                            (496 words)

                                                      Joseph Xavier Martin