When we start to count flowers, we cease to count weeds;
When we start to count blessings, we cease to count needs;
When we start to count laughter, we cease to count tears;
When we start to count memories, we cease to count years.
–anonymous
Even though the clock says the sun should be up, and I’m sure it is, the morning is dark. Behind those clouds and rain somewhere up there the sun is shining. But down here in my little corner of soggy northwest Arkansas, I’ll just have to rest in the fact that it’s there because I can’t see it. All I can see is rain.
It’s a perfect day for reading or writing a mystery, or going for a walk in the gentle shower or settling down with a cup of coffee and just thinking about things.
I’m sure some people are groaning and saying, More rain? Hey! Remember a few weeks ago, rain ranked high on our prayer list? In other parts of our state and Oklahoma, many people are still asking for rain. So I say it’s a blessing and I’m thankful for it. It’s good for the plants to have their roots soaked before cold weather and freezes get here.
The branches of the crepe myrtle are so heavy, they are once again nearly touching the deck. The container garden couldn’t be happier and the impatiens and marigolds in the circular garden around the oak tree are stretching on their tiptoes to see who can outgrow the other.
Of course, the weeds love the rain too but as in the little poem, if I’m counting the blooms, I don’t pay much attention to the stray weed or two–or three…Weeds are a part of life whether they are of the plant variety or they appear disguised as an unpleasant circumstance or a less than attractive attitude or a harsh word. Weeds are weeds. They are there but who would want to concentrate on weeds when there are so many flowers and so many blessings? That would be a severe waste of our allotted time.
I imagine myself running through the rain, doing a twirly dance or two and hugging the morning close. Sure, it’s dark. True, it could seem a bit forbidding, but it sort of closes me into my own cozy world, inspires me to sit down at my computer and pull words out of thin air and I count it a blessing. (Don’t worry, I won’t really go leaping and dancing out into my yard because who wants to be remembered as that crazy, gray-haired writer woman who cavorts in a thunderstorm?) It would sure create a memorable moment, though, wouldn’t it?
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