I've spent the last hour and a half listening to the far off rumbling of a thunderstorm, and it has felt so very nice.
At the old house, the forty-four year old windows had been wrapped in some sort of vinyl covering. I will never forget the first rainstorm we experienced there. It felt like being trapped inside a popcorn popper. The sounds of tiny raindrops hitting the exterior sill were loud and intense, like we were coming under siege. I was furious that I was now trapped in a home with this, and there was nothing I could do.
You better believe the barrage of raindrops woke the baby Boy. The general direction of the wind in that yard always seemed to blow rain onto that side of the house. Rain was no longer a pleasant and peaceful white noise. Rain was the Enemy -- a constant threat to each nap time and night of rest, lurking, waiting for me to let down my guard.
I began to dread rain at night. Rainstorms overnight would wake the babies. It's funny now that my subconscious never let me sleep through rain - I always woke (even 8 years later), lying there anticipating the moment the children would cry out. My sleep was disturbed either way. "Please just blow over, quickly. Pass by. Don't let the wind blow that way. Don't hit the windows. Don't hit the windows." I would think in my mind.
Shawn was never as bothered by the sound of it as I was (I think I'm more sensitive to that sensory input than the ordinary person), but he would lie awake just the same. He was always worried about the trees. With rain comes wind. With wind comes the broken branches of the mighty trees that encircled our home. Those trees were a blessing and a curse. It was these amazing, mature trees that gave us the shade rendering our yard useful nearly all day long. It was these amazing mature trees that filtered the light so perfectly for my pictures. And it was these amazing mature trees that gave me a feeling of being in my own private cocoon of safety. But those trees loomed their branches over the roof of our home.
Upon hearing the first drop or first clap of thunder, he was awake and checking the weather to see just what we were in for. Rain was no longer a soothing comfort. Rain meant threat.
And so, listening to the distant rumbles of thunder this morning, hearing the sounds of rain just hitting the ground making their pleasant patters, is such a welcome and soothing experience. I had forgotten just how much I did love listening to it. In the early years of our old home, I was furious about those windows stealing my rain-joy. Over time I made peace with it and came to accept it. That home had so much that I loved that I could forgive it its few flaws. I already miss those walls so much, but enjoying this rain helps ease my pain.