In the early afternoon the wind picked up rather viciously, and I once again worried about my tender young plants. The grape trellis I built myself last year creaked and pulled as the gusts ripped through the vines. The large elm at the end of our property swayed as if dancing to lovely song. I busied myself indoors, while the baby napped and Olivia had quiet time, learning about new plant propagations I’ve recently acquired. When I heard the drops pounding the pavement and the patio greenhouse, I leapt up to protect my tiny seed starts, because I thought it was hailing.

It’s the end of June, but I have had to cover my crops several times, because winter and spring and summer seem to still be wrestling one another over whose turn it is. I stood at my patio window and watched the big, fat drops meet the earth. I admired that low glow of a thunderstorm, bright, yet grey. It instantly transported me back to my fondest memories of childhood, when the relentless heat of the summer day would explode into warm tears from the sky and we would giggle and hold each other and dance around laughing and soaking. It was pure bliss.

Elijah soon woke from the thunder, and we stepped barefoot out into the puddles. Smelling the wet earth and splashing to cool our feet. It’s strange how we become so busy in our lives and ourselves that soon these moments of magic are forgotten. Every year the afternoon rain returns to the summer, and I am reminded once again to lose myself in the bliss of becoming soaked by the drops, dancing, smiling and squishing my toes into muddy earth. I’m grateful for the pause, and the reminder to look around, and soak up the moment.