By Susie Curtin.
It’s mid to late August after the hottest summer I can recall. The landscape is yellow and parched, and there are places I barely recognise as the Dorset countryside. But this morning, I woke to the soft musical notes of rain, gently pitter-pattering on my garden below. It is 6.30am. I get up to see the fine straight rods of raindrops falling from the thundery greyness above. Apart from the rain, everywhere is still. The birds are singing elatedly, and the windless air is cool and welcoming. I gather my waterproof and step out to the sound of gentle popping noises on my hood, and the sweet smell of rain on the ground. I can almost hear the land sighing with relief. For some reason, I feel quite excited – perhaps it is the distant sound of thunder and the promise of a storm. Or maybe it is because it is a long time since I was last out in the rain.
This summer has been extraordinary under the cloudless skies and searing heat. I have always loved the sunshine. Whatever the season, a bright sunny day always calls me outside. But when such hot, fine weather continues unabated, it begins to feel wrong – this is not the British summer of yesteryear. We usually make our plans with our fingers crossed for good weather as predictability and English summers do not go hand in hand.
Rain is nearly always perceived as a negative component in art and literature. In Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, Feste’s song reminds us that our festivities are only short-lived intervals – thereafter ‘it raineth every day’, a symbol of life’s hardship. But like most things, it all depends on your perspective. I look back rather ashamedly when I remember how I would sit at my mother’s kitchen table grumbling about yet another rainy day when my boys and I wanted to be on the beach. With infinite patience she would remind me that without the rain, we would not live in such a beautiful country, and that when she lived in Africa, people would pray for the rains to come. And when they did, all forms of life would flourish. She loved it.
If she were here today, I would, for once, agree with her sentiment. Even in those days, I had to admit to her how much I enjoyed flying home to Britain and seeing Blake’s ‘green and pleasant land’. For now, I am happy to be striding out as the raindrops get heavier, and I think of all the good they are doing and the life they will replenish.
Dr Susie Curtin
(email curtin.susanna@gmail.com)