Remembering the Rain

David Bone under umbrellaI’ve remembered recently how much I loved the rain as a kid. Perhaps more precisely, being out in weather which is changing or not favorable, quiet in the usual way with a solitude or smallness to it.

One moment of weather I loved is the pending rain. As the kids were heading in, I’d grab an umbrella and go out onto the driveway, find a spot on the cement and wait for the inevitable. Umbrella open, held tight and close to my head, I’d crouch down and keep my patch of cement dry as long as I could. Even with a big umbrella and a light rain, eventually all the cement would get wet. End of game.

Was I?

I think I was in a Western. While at my desk today, I heard two hawk siren calls. It didn’t register right away.

When my brain finally came to question the sound, I walked out the back door and looked up. Sure enough, there was a hawk circling. As if in a Western, I walked through the saloon doors and followed the hawk as it soared to the highest point in the town (my neighborhood), to the cross at the top of the steeple. That’s when I realized I should have had a steady hand, ready to draw. Too late.