Pearls of Serenity
After the intensity of the workday—a short-staffed crew, a deluge of emergent demands—I greeted the rain with a sigh of relief.
Its soft patter on the sidewalk, the plunking of its fall into rippled puddles, the splooshing sound of passing cars all seemed like music.
I felt myself easing into its gentleness, expanding into the muted colors of the afternoon.
As I drove home, my windshield wipers kept time to the radio’s music and I noticed how the traffic lights streamed their reds and greens onto the wet road. I thought of a comment I read once by an artist named Hundertwasser about how colors took on such a glow in the rain. It was, he said, his favorite weather.
We don’t often think of rain as a cause for joy. But this afternoon, I understood how Hundertwasser could feel the way he did about it. It’s all in how you look at things, and what you want to find.
I wanted peace and release, and that’s exactly what the rain brought me. As I stepped from the car in my driveway, I came face to face with a low branch of pine, its needles shimmering with raindrops that looked like pearls just plucked from the sea. I stood for a moment, taking it all in, filled with the glow of serenity and quiet joy.
It’s all so beautiful, I thought, so perfect.
And so it is.
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