Still, the rain is blessed. The tomatoes may die and the rest of the population might moan, but this is what it means to have seasons. These unexpected blessings, two days of rain after a week of 70+, and I choose to take the bad with the good because I've lived without seasons. It's not always a ton of fun, either.
Life. Sometimes I think I'd chose a life without seasons over the type of season we've had recently. 18 months of . . . not quite winter, but of days like today. Life feels thick with clouds, pressing in and keeping most of the light away. And it has carried the hassle of rain, of either getting wet or juggling umbrella along with diaper bag, purse, water bottle, and baby every time I leave the house.
And yet . . . and yet. There's always that "and yet," it seems. Something that wiggles its way forward, that waves hands in air and asks me if maybe, just maybe, things aren't as black and white as they seem.
And yet. Without the rain things don't grow. I keep telling myself that, and I have said it over and over these months. It's hard, not knowing what's been planted, not knowing what sort of crop all this rain is tending, not knowing if, really, there's anything growing that would make all this rain worthwhile. But maybe. Maybe. MAYBE. Maybe there is.
I find myself left with another question, yet again not quite sure if I can answer. IF there's something growing that needs all of this rain to sprout and blossom and seed, would I sacrifice it for days of easy sunshine and stagnant soul?