I just experienced a magical moment. It's been a hot dry week, with heat advisories in effect and temperatures hovering at 100 degrees Farenheit.
Ominous gray clouds loomed earlier in the day, heavy with the promise of rain, but only for a short time; the sun scattered them. Although some thick clouds had returned by dusk, they seemed too far aloft to hope.
And then an hour after sunset, from inside that artificial environment we call a house, I heard the music calling to me, and I went to the door, drawn like a child to the piper.
I stood outside in the dark, all the lights off, with the rain trickling down, frogs chirruping, and the sweet scent of warm summer air, and I inhaled with rapture. The light hammer taps of rain hit the parched tree leaves, creating a percussion symphony to accompany the vibrato amphibian calls.
Oh to live like that. I yearn for the days of feeling safe enough to sleep with the windows thrown open, the warm sweet smell of cut grass filling the air. To be able to be with nature every night.
I saw the sparkles of stars through the oaken canopy, winking as the one cloud heavy enough to disgorge some of its treasure moved across. And then it was gone, leaving the touch of moisture on the leaves to scent the air.
Oh to live embraced in the bosom of nature.
(Or at least to have a big roomy porch with a rocker and a porch swing.)