Yesterday a light rain broke through the grey. I sat at my desk in the garret and the light tapping on the roof accompanied the tapping of my fingers on the keyboard. A soothing sound, but unfortunately, the shower only lasted a few minutes.
I realize other parts of the country would appreciate some dryer days, but after our snowless winter, we need the rain. We need the refreshing. Our lawns are waiting for an excuse to turn green, and the tulips and daffodils are eager to make an appearance. They apparently need to be coaxed into further action, greater revelation.
I found my own version of refreshment and followed the invitation of spring as I washed bedding and replaced winter quilts and blankets with a brighter, lighter, happier look. I ironed the duvet cover and the antique white coverlet and even the white airy curtains to replace the cozy grey velvet ones. I wrestled the duvet into its cover, wondering why these covers don't open flat with buttons on one complete side. I was in and out of the laundry room and up and down the stairs frequently, accomplishing one step of the total task at a time.
So often I can't see I have accomplished anything by the end of the day. When I spend the day writing, I may end up with less than I started--tossing paragraphs or even chapters aside. If I meet with a client, I pray our time together makes a difference, but I don't always know. If I bake, we eat it. When I make phone calls to my government officials, who knows if it makes a difference, a real difference.
But today I can look in the bedroom and say, "Ah, look at what I did today."
Today I can look out my window and know that the spring rain, when it comes, will make a difference.
What do you do when you need to be refreshed? I would love to know.