In favor of hail

Now, I'm as much in favor of good weather as the next gal. But I do love a good house-shaking storm once in a while. Lest we forget that usually, Mother Nature is very good to us.

Spring storms are kind of depressing, but I still love them. I remember once saying to a friend, "Isn't it a beautiful day?" And he thought I was crazy, because it was a wet gloomy day in the interminably cold dreary days of a Logan springtime. But I could see a tree out the library window, whose leafless branches were a vibrant dark brown against the wet gray of pavement and buildings. On sunny days I never noticed that tree.

It reminds me of this poem by Ezra Pound:

In a Station of the Metro

 The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.

Normally I'm not a huge poetry fan, but this one has stayed with me, probably because I can relate to it. The beauty you see in the midst of ugliness has more impact than uniform beauty. And beauty is everywhere, if you can see it.

Of course, though, I can't wait for summer storms. Those are my favorite. Summer storms have warm raindrops that compel you to go outside and enjoy it. Maybe wrestle your next-door cousin in a mud puddle, or jump on the trampoline with your grownup sister.

Rain gives life to plants. And memories.