March 31: Clouds Passing
Kristen Lindquist
Although the night sky is hidden by clouds now, earlier today we breathed a big sigh of relief when the rain finally stopped. The clouds began to pass eastward over the mountains, leaving behind sodden soils and a swollen river. Someone said we'd gotten 11 inches of rain this March, when we normally get about three. For a while sunlight shone into my office, illuminating the room in what seemed like a new and wonderful way. I wanted to stretch out in my rug like a cat. We exclaimed over patches of blue sky.
This respite from the elements lasted till dark, so I was able to run outside after work. Everywhere the earth seemed to be celebrating the passing of the rain. Birds warbled from budding trees: song sparrows, blackbirds, house finches, and robins--the first singing robins I've heard this spring. People were out running, walking, biking in that brief window before darkness. The river jubilantly spilled over its banks all along Route 105 and into town, creating tree-filled ponds, foreshortened lawns, wild rows of foaming waves, and new side streams. The air was redolent with that fresh lake water smell I associate with fishing. As I ran past the view of Mount Megunticook along 105, the tail end of the clouds was sweeping up its western flank like a vaporous scarf. Goodbye, rain!
Draped by cloud mantle,
mountain becomes resting girl
lulled by robin's song.
Like the mountain, I too can now rest, satisfied with my day's activities, uplifted by the birdsong of spring.
This respite from the elements lasted till dark, so I was able to run outside after work. Everywhere the earth seemed to be celebrating the passing of the rain. Birds warbled from budding trees: song sparrows, blackbirds, house finches, and robins--the first singing robins I've heard this spring. People were out running, walking, biking in that brief window before darkness. The river jubilantly spilled over its banks all along Route 105 and into town, creating tree-filled ponds, foreshortened lawns, wild rows of foaming waves, and new side streams. The air was redolent with that fresh lake water smell I associate with fishing. As I ran past the view of Mount Megunticook along 105, the tail end of the clouds was sweeping up its western flank like a vaporous scarf. Goodbye, rain!
Draped by cloud mantle,
mountain becomes resting girl
lulled by robin's song.
Like the mountain, I too can now rest, satisfied with my day's activities, uplifted by the birdsong of spring.