There’s something beautiful about how you spend your time when you’re caught in a rainstorm. No one truly wants to find themselves standing outside, under a tree or at a distance from shelter the instant we feel the heavy splat of rain against our skin. Only movie scenes seem fit for those dramatic moments: man stands in the middle of a parking lot with hands out and palms up, face toward the sky asking, “Why me?”; girl and boy meet on a cobblestone street, are the type of smitten that only seems to happen in European films and they go wandering off in the lamplit Parisian mist; it’s a dark and stormy night where the driver of a car finds him or herself on a deserted road in a rural part of Nebraska and the windshield wipers are on the optimal speed but the rain’s downfall defy them. When it comes to rain and time, it always feel like we need to be filling that space with…ourself. With something and ourself. Even if we’re in the comfort of indoors, we use the rain as an excuse to sleep more, watch a movie, or lounge around in our Saturday pajamas while reading the next Stieg Larsson novel. We are a culture that is constantly in motion. To stop, and to observe the natural phenomena that is sometimes so powerful it’s destructive, is rare.
But being caught in the rain, and finding refuge under a well-sheltered overhang is something totally different. Unless you’re looking for a reason to get wet or cannot wait, there is nothing else you can do in this instance except wait. And so you stand there, watching the rain fall – looking like whole notes written across a scale, descending one octave lower and lower; or appearing to bounce off the pavement like little glass beads that reflect pieces of the world upside down, and for a brief period of time, become unaware of the hour, of where you’re going or why you were rushing. They are completely innocent moments.
This is the “something beautiful.”
Before the storm