A downpour is torrential if witnessed from behind a pane of glass while travelling sixty miles per hour. With each drop crashing and expanding, the rain seems more like a smoky haze than a gathering of individual particles of water.
With my automobile in park, I stepped outside and realized the atmosphere was no more torrential than before the clouds opened and allowed the storm to form. The oaks and hickories stood silent and gracious, waving subtly with the winds as they passed. Each leaf expanded and contracted, soaking up the atoms of energy. Each tree or plant root cried out, “Glory!” For their work load was now lighter for the day. The soils were moist once again and proud of their damp and fragrant hue.
The drops were less violent. Rain, like butterflies, are indistinguishable and annoying when thrust upon our windshields. I can only imagine what they would say about how we seem from within our machines.
In a stolen summer storm neither squirrel nor sparrow hide from the shower. They go about their work, seemingly grateful for the drop in temperature, undoubtedly full of knowledge that such gifts come rarely in this time of year and in this type of place.
Anthony Sadler 