We have had days and days of rain. Not light, misty, keep-the-grass-green rain. Drenching, basement-flooding rain. Sheets of it. The kind of rain that you have to pull your car over in.
When it stopped?
I made Hubby come with the boys and I to pick pumpkins at the local patch.
When I first saw this picture, I was struck by how it seems to be broken into 3 parts – the dark of the sky, the green of the strawberry plants and the light of the path and corn.
I love capturing clouds like this. This was so worth the long, wet, muddy walk back to the pumpkin patch.
I know before I get out of bed in the morning.
I stir to wakefulness, and can feel the pressure behind my eyes.
The curtains are closed, the blinds drawn, but I know before I even open my eyes.
I pull the blankets up over my head and curl into my “spot”. That wonderful little cushion on Hubby’s shoulder between the joint of his shoulder and the base of his neck. I spend many mornings here, but rainy mornings especially.
I can feel him stir… his gentle movement as he lays his strong hand over my eyes and massages my temple.
He knows me.
The shadows that I worked so hard to leave behind find me when it rains.
The grey skies hold the sadness and the loneliness that I felt for years and shower it on me like the tears I have cried. I hear the raindrops hitting the windows, like taps on my shoulder, reminding me that they are never far away.
He wraps his arms around me to protect me from the rain.
He understands me.
I slowly make my way downstairs. The stresses, the pressures of the last few months, weeks, weighing down my steps. I try to kick them loose, like mud from my shoes, but they are unmoving.
He hands me a coffee, some pain medication, kisses me gently, sits beside me on the couch. No words are spoken.
He hears me.
Never pushing, never questioning. Knowing my sadness. Understanding my dark places. Hearing when I need him to help me. He is there when it is time.
He loves me.