Celebrate: Rain That Wakes Us Up

This week ended with a  rainstorm. Right now I hear drip, plop. Every few seconds, a bubble accumulates on the light fixture above me. When it gets too heavy,img_4793 it drops into the bucket below. That leak along with the weeds that are growing on our hillside have been dormant for years. Both need to be tended to, but today I celebrate the wet and the growth that is messy and muddy.

We’ve had a few storms this year. Yesterday’s was predicted to be big. It hit hardest just before school let out.

I opened the classroom door, and the wind pushed us back. Sheets of rain blew into the covered walkway. Students who love the novelty of rain winced and walked purposely toward the more protected hallway. Parents of primary kiddos streamed in as the fifth graders made their way out to wait for their bus, their car, their afterschool program.

A fourth grader standing on the steps to the auditorium looked at me and asked, “Have you seen my sister? She has two missing teeth.”  After a short silence, he added, “She has freckles.” He paused. “And blond hair.” Another pause. “She’s little.”

He was one of many brothers and sisters looking. Their usual pattern of “find your sister/brother” had been disrupted and the olders were on edge.  With the assistance of teachers, siblings were united and bit by bit escorted under umbrellas to their waiting cars and buses.  Soon the front of the school was quiet. All that could be heard was rain.

This week I celebraimg_4807te the rain that announces a leaky roof and muddies the hillsides. I celebrate call of family and the seamless unspoken collaboration of teachers who take care of children no matter what.  I celebrate seeing things that have been overlooked or taken for granted. I celebrate the uncomfortable that wakes us up and calls us to action.
Read other celebration posts here at Ruth Ayers blog, Ruth Ayers Writes.

celebrate link up

13 thoughts on “Celebrate: Rain That Wakes Us Up

  1. Hope that you are staying safe in these storms! I love these lines so much, “I celebrate seeing things that have been overlooked or taken for granted. I celebrate the uncomfortable that wakes us up and calls us to action.” It’s so true!!

  2. I love the fourth grader’s description of his sister… the order in the description hints prioritization, with “she’s little” being a final clue as well as his reason for concern. Your last paragraph is a wonderful prose poem–in crafting and in content.

  3. You have rain…we have winter, finally. Snow and cold temperatures. An inconvenience, but lovely in its way. This is such a beautifully descriptive post. You had me from the first drip! The little boy’s description of his little sister is priceless. I could feel him standing next to you. I agree that your final paragraph is a gem…such multilayered thoughts, so richly articulated.

  4. That description of a little sister just made me laugh – so funny! And sometimes, when the weather is having its way, all you can is learn to go with the mud and the rain and the leaks. Mother Nature will always have her way, and all we can do is go along with her!

  5. I heard about your storm, and hope it won’t get too much worse. Love hearing about those siblings looking out for the others. In the gloomy storm, I imagine it wasn’t easy to meet up.

  6. Seems like we have storms hit right at dismissal – uncanny timing! Your post reminds me again, how different our environments are. Storms and rain are regulars around here. Hope all is well after the storm.

  7. When I heard about the storm in your area, I immediately thought of you Julieanne. I am glad that there are teachers like you with caring hearts. This line pops up at me as a beautiful thoughts among others: I celebrate call of family and the seamless unspoken collaboration of teachers who take care of children no matter what. Stay safe, Julieanne.

  8. A beautiful celebration, that delightful big brother looking for his little sister, the rain that arrives blustery and unwanted right at dismissal, the teachers assisting siblings to find each other again, and then the front of the school quiet, with just the sound of rain.

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