White Butterflies

Rain fell lightly from the solid sheet of gray overhead and the wind picked up as the school bus rolled to a stop in front of our mailbox.  As Abby stepped from the pot-holed gravel driveway onto the street, the petals from the pear tree jumped off onto the breeze and flew like a hundred tiny butterflies, white against the spring green background.  In synchronicity they swirled and danced and landed on the grass, only to be followed by more butterflies, late comers to the party. 

Upon first glance this morning it looked gloomy after a full week wrapped in sunshine.  But as I sat, coffee in hand on the covered front porch listening to the rain fall on the new leaves, I realized how important these days are to everyone and everything. The small leaves on the dogwood reached up as if to catch the life-giving liquid and the birds chirped and sang despite the wetness. Perhaps we need these days, not only to keep the hay growing and the flowers blooming and to keep the dust from kicking up with every step, but also to give everyone a day of rest.  The sun’s energy is so powerful; it is what gives life. It is just as powerful and necessary as water; so to have a blanket of grey clouds overhead gives us respite from that energy. Light and dark; good and bad; sun and rain; without one we would not appreciate the other. Too much of one creates angst.

So I allow the rain to sooth my soul and listen to it fall like music all around me.  I take this day for what it is, and I take in the beauty of the morning as if I were watching a fiery sunrise against a blue sky.