Rain on Hot Concrete
Posted on 11. Apr, 2009 by Deb in On Writing, The Girl
It’s Spring in Texas, evident by not only the burgeoning flowers and trees, but also the presence of thunderstorms tonight. Spring storms can be both exciting to watch but frightening to experience when raindrops are accompanied by hail or worse, tornadoes. We desperately need the rain here in the North Texas area as we have been experience wildfires and were still under a burn-ban. The rain tonight isn’t expected to satisfy the need for rain in the area, but any little bit helps.
Spring rains, however, do not hold a place in my heart like summer rains. Oh, it isn’t that I hate spring rains; I recognize their need intellectually, of course. I’ve also learned appreciate to the fierceness of the storms and respect the power of Mother Nature. Spring rains, however, are like a woman in desperate need of her estrogen shot: unpredictable. They can be harsh and cold in one moment, soft and weepy in others, and in the next moment, unreasonably angry. Anyone in the “Tornado Alley” of the US understands, I’m sure.
Summer rains? Now those are a totally different animal. My reminiscences of summer rains are all about unbearably hot days and quick thunderstorms. I’m sure there is ferocity to summer rains, but those are not the standouts in my memory. The best summer rains were the ones that took place in July when I was at my grandmother’s house. She allowed me to go out and play in the rain, telling me that I didn’t have to worry about “catching my death” thanks to the warmth of the air. There was nothing better than the first moments of standing barefooted in the grueling heat one moment and in the next, but hit with big, fat drops of rain. The rain was cooling and soothing and fresh, a way to wash away the grime of the 100 degree day.
And there is nothing like the smell of the cooling summer rain as it first hits the hot concrete. Trust me, the smell of a spring rain, as evidenced by my brief stand on my front porch, just isn’t the same.