The comfort of raindrops

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Tonight’s quietness has been punctuated by the steady beat of raindrops on my balcony here in Holyrood. I wonder why I find this sound such a comfort – and am reminded that raindrops are among the constants in our lives. And so, in the course of an evening, I have returned to similar experiences from childhood right up to the present day. Each has something in common: the warmth and calm of being sheltered, indoors, at home, lulled towards peace by some of the gentler sounds of nature – which present peace makes me all the more mindful of Lori in Florida and all who are dealing with the aftermath of a fiercer expression of nature’s power. Hugs, Lori.

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The other

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There are nights that are so still
that I can hear the small owl calling
far off and a fox barking
miles away. It is then that I lie
in the lean hours awake, listening
to the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic
rising and falling, rising and falling
wave on wave on the long shore
by the village, that is without light
and companionless. And the thought comes
of that other being who is awake, too,
letting our prayers break on him,
not like this for a few hours,
but for days, years, for eternity.

R S Thomas (link)
From Destinations, 1985
Collected Poems

Sometimes, in the ‘timeless moments’ of life, particular poets re-enter my heart and mind as counsel and comfort within a season. The late and deeply present R S Thomas has long told of the rising and falling of life’s great ocean, but also of the ‘nights that are so still’ – of an eternal calm. Images of such a calm have been beamed around the globe in recent days, and ears bend to hear the reassuring sound of kind wind – as the Scottish love song* has it – ‘like a bird on the wing’ across water.

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* The Skye Boat Song, Sir Harold Edwin Boulton

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