Here in Washington, D.C., it has been raining off and on for days. It is raining even at this moment, but I am in my tiny ivory tower, wearing warm socks and enjoying my second mug of hot tea and a good book. It is cheering to watch the rain fall; the streets are glistening and the leaves on the trees are brimming over with raindrops. All this moisture must be beneficial for forests and crops. I ignore the busy souls hurrying along with their umbrellas, bundled up in caps and gloves on this cold and wet day.
Idleness can be inspirational in its way: the weather creates different thoughts at different times of day, sometimes they are sad ones, sometimes serious and meditative, but always useful.
I like the sounds of heavy rain at night, too, accompanied by the gentle but insistent patter of pear-shaped raindrops forming on the panes.
I put down the book I have been reading and let my mind wander to other books and poems. The rain turned my thoughts to a sonnet by Edna St. Vincent Millay, where she says:
“..the rain is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh
Upon the glass and listen for reply.”
Writing is a talent which few of us possess, so we turn to those who can express what we ordinary people cannot. We may have fire in our hearts, but not the tools to give them form.
The mention of ghosts and the glass in the poem reminded me of one of the most poignant scenes in “Wuthering Heights”, where the ghostly voice of Catherine Linton (Cathy) is heard outside the window one stormy night, crying, “Let me in, let me in!”, and Heathcliff’s agony as he rushes to the window, flings it open, and searches for her in the stormy darkness.
On the same tragic note, my thoughts flitted to the last scene in the life of Anna Karenina, Tolstoy’s tragic heroine, where she paces the railway platform while waiting for a message from Vronsky. Frantic, miserable, and desperate, Anna finally, and very calculatedly, throws herself under a train when no message arrives from her lover.
I still remember Tolstoy’s description clearly of Anna’s final thoughts before she perishes:
“And the light by which she had read the book filled with troubles, falsehoods, sorrow and evil, flared up more brightly than ever before, lighted up for her all that had been in darkness, flickered, began to grow dim, and was quenched forever.”
I will not sadden my readers any further by also relating the “Death of Ivan Ilyich”. In any case, it has nothing to do with rain. But I must end by mentioning “Game of Thrones” and “The Rains of Castamere”. Those who have read the books will know that the Lannisters were not to be trifled with...
Rain does not always evoke tragedy, death, and darkness. It awakens gentle memories as well of other times and other places; of happy childhood, ribbons and bows, and birthday parties, chats with my mother, my first crush at the tender age of ten on a handsome Dutch boy in school, and a host of other things, all beautiful in retrospect, blurred as they are by the selective process of remembering only the best bits of the past.
Rain is as necessary as breathing, in order to bring new things into existence. We need only remember the yin and yang, the eternal duality of everything in the universe and, most importantly, that after every rain, there is a rainbow when the sun shines through.
Nasrin Sobhan is a freelance writer.