June 3, 2010 – Morning’s Quiet Rain


“Morning’s Quiet Rain”

Indiana rain is strange and soothing. I woke up early, of course. It is only the second day of summer vacation so my body is still telling me that I need to wake up early to deal with simultaneously hyper and sleepy 8th graders. Instead, I wake to a silent house, having left the hubby burrowed beneath the covers in our bed in his hibernation. The only other thing awake is our cat Oz, who greets me at the bedroom door and follows me into the bathroom to keep an eye on me. When I finally clothe myself and make it to the couch, Oz is there to instantly claim my lap as his own, stretching his regal head up for scratching beneath his chin.

I let the cat settle himself upon my lap, which, of course, takes several trials and error, kneading, and rearrangements. Finally, he decides that he is content and nudges my hand with his head expectantly. I am happy to oblige, running my fingers over the dark, Egyptian-like lines on his cheeks, the lines that influenced our decision to name him after Ozymandias, King of kings. I also scritch under his chin and behind his ears just like he likes and his loud purr confirms that I am serving him aptly.

As we sit there in a rare silence, it begins to rain, large drops pat-spattering our lattice-frame windows. The rain drums softly upon the glass, massaging my mind and soothing my soul. Even Oz begins to look sleepy once again as my head starts to loll back onto the couch cushions. It has been a solid 10 minutes and he we haven’t moved. That is rare, like the silence. Usually our house is bustling with something: my husband on his Xbox yelling at the rustlers who just stole his seven-hundred-and-fifty dollar horse, the tv chattering away, the husband and Oz playing in the living room, Oz trying to climbs the walls, or one of us on the phone.

I let the quiet wrap itself around with the rain patters. It brushes away the stress of the past few weeks, of students clamoring like babies for their bottles. It calms the many worries about family. It reminds me that, no matter what, peace can be found. Then, like someone turning off a faucet, the rain stops, the bedroom door opens, admitting the husband into the waking world, Oz leaps from my lap, and the day has begun. Wet weather aside, it has been fifteen minutes of silent bliss and it is a beautiful morning.

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