A few nights ago, I snapped this photo of a well deserved and needed rain on our front walk. I was simply overjoyed to see the wash of blue inching across our front meadow. And oh, the scent of rain on dry earth is something I will never get enough of. I can remember our lovely collie dog we had when I was a child. His name was Laddie, and we could always, always predict whether we would be getting that rain we coveted in the distant clouds. If Laddie lifted his beautiful long nose and gently inhaled the air, we knew he smelled rain, and it was coming. Ah, that sweet dog was my constant companion as an only child. He was beautiful, tricolor, gentle, and simply the perfect iconic dog.
My dad always loved the rain. I hated the sound of the radio when the doppler radar jingle came on. To me, that little cadence always signaled storms.. I am no longer afraid of storms although I respect their ferocity, but I am still to this day apprehensive of that jingle on the local KRES FM radio station. To my dad, rainy and stormy nights meant a better crop and nicer hay. Sometimes on nights like this I can almost see a silhouette against the mist... the wind blowing his hair as he stood out in the rain and watched the sky. One hot, sultry night of my childhood when we had a downpour, he took a bar of soap out with him and gave himself a nature shower with good old Lava... I cannot imagine where he went to find privacy, but he came back in laughing and tossing the rain out of his eyes... I may have to try that the next time we have a midnight toad-strangler.