Today is a bit of a slow day, even if only for me. There is something about the weather that affects us, right? Returning home from traveling on lands of endless sunshine, the gray skies, they seem to slow people down. Cars still drive fast, the Blackberry hasn't lost it's use; yes I know. I've seen what seems like the weather on peoples faces. The empty streets and quiet restaurants tell me that people slow with the season.
I love the rain. It's peaceful. It gently gets in your face. It surrounds you. Our rain is most often gentle, the soft words of season. It justifies simplicity. It enables and encourages the reading of a book, a cup of coffee, and a warm cafe. If we listen, we are forced to engage ourselves.
This earth is overwhelmed with silence; we make noise so we won't hear it. We stay so busy that we cannot embrace it. The silence leads us inward. I think most people are uncomfortable here.
The sun will come. The season does not die. We will be encouraged once more with people in the streets, fruits of the harvest, and sunshine to lengthen our days. But why we love one and hate the other, I do not know. The seasons are good and needed. The seasons might even connect us with something deeper, something that cannot be realized directly.
We wish it were direct, but it is not.