The loudest noise on this dark, quiet morning is my water fountain in the flower garden by the front porch. Its splash has always reminded me of a creek. And, looking out my back door beyond the deck, I can see only trees and believe, for a few a moments, that I’m in the country with no houses near. Such it is with a gal who has grown up in the country with country in her blood.
In the wee hours before daybreak, more rain fell. Good, hard, soaking rain. It is wonderful for flowers, grass, and gardens and, as a lullaby, it can’t be beat.
But now, with the sun hiding somewhere behind clouds in the east, the world in front of my window seems to be waiting. For what? For more rain? For the advent of bird songs? So far, I’ve heard no birds at all and, strange as it seems, I’ve seen no squirrels run pell mell across the lawn. I don’t like the feeling of waiting.
Trumpet Vine
One of the hardest things about getting a new book into print is the waiting. I guess it’s sort of like the birth of a baby. The time has to be right. There’s no rushing it. So, I’ll patch up my tattered garment of patience and put it on again. It has slipped completely off my shoulders.
Finally! A sign of life. A dampish-looking robin hops across the lawn. After a rain is a good time for birds to find worms and I imagine he has a hungry family back home who is depending on him. But, he had to have the patience to wait until the rain stopped before he went grocery shopping.
Patient little flower girl
Yesterday, I glanced out my window and there, perched on the window ledge under the eave was a furry ball. I looked closer. A wet squirrel huddled on the bricks of the ledge, tail curled up over his back and nose tucked between his paws. He was waiting too. Waiting for the rain to stop so he could hurry back home.
So, I wait with the morning. Will we have more rain? Will the sun shine? Will my patience increase and will I find other things to think about while I wait? Maybe.
I should have learned patience when I was a child in the country. We had to wait too, for crops to grow, for calves to mature, for the blackberries to ripen enough to be picked. A good part of life is made up of waiting so I hope, someday, I learn to be patient with a bit of grace.
Books by Blanche Day Manos and a peek into the life of an impatient author, at the Amazon Author’s Page.
There, you’ll find out how I feel about thunderstorms and herbs and a few things I love.
Yep, that waiting is trying to us all.
It sure is, Helen. Thanks for writing.