SEPTEMBER PROVIDES A REBIRTH AFTER THE RAINS

September rains, how sweet they are. They started in the last days of August this year, but still anyone acquainted with rain habits, their fierceness, softness, odor, insistence, temperature, slant, etc., know they were the September rains.

The first one, for me, came in the night, teasing me half awake with a few tentative drops splattering against my bedside window. I sleepily interpreted the soft, soothing patter to be saying, "Excuse us for being early, but since it has been such a hot, dry summer...." I drifted off to sleep again and awoke at dawn to a fresh, new world that was sparkling clean. The bird bath was full of rainwater which the birds like better than faucet water. Where, a few weeks ago, the rudbeckia and phlox had been cut to the ground, new sprouts that had come up seemed to wiggle with a new lease on life.

"All right," I said, accenting "right," half in admiration of the new day, half a belated response to the seeming apology of the September-in-August raindrops in the night.

For as long as I can remember, September rains have been almost like a separate season, such as Indian Summer and blackberry winter. There were things that had to be pulled from the ground and from vines to be stored before the September rains set in. There were seeds to get into the ground before the September rains, such as late growing lettuce and turnips. It was a break in the season not noted on calendars nor in almanacs but from grassroots experience.

My next September rain coming in late August this year was more assertive, almost obliterating from view a car tour of the beautiful impatiens gardens in Sikeston. Impatiens have long been neglected as a showy foundation, or just in flower gardens anywhere, because of their propensity to wilt in hot sun. But judicious planting which avoids hot sun all day can result in the great colorful splashes I saw, albeit veiled by the August rains of September.

Then there was the morning on the back porch, in the swing, breakfast brew in hand, when the third before September but definitely September rain came. Like little rabbits' quivering tails, it came. There was a drop on the lacy white autumn clematis, in bloom now, and it made the whole vine shimmy. A disturbed bee, deep in the blossoms, disengaged himself, increasing the movement of the clematis and releasing more of its inimitable fragrance.

Another drop fell on a wide spreading hollyhock leaf, one on the porch steps, and one wishing to make its presence more well known, splattered on the metal awning. It was almost as if someone were knocking hesitantly at the door, awaiting an invitation to come in. "All right," I said, echoing another earlier conversation with the rain. So, here it came, the drops rising in a mist from the garage roof. The dogwoods, being washed off, gradually disclosed the rouge they've been secretly applying to their leaves, preparing for autumn's gypsy coloring contest.

I blessed the roof over my head which allows me to sit outside and enjoy the rain. Even though a few drops splash on the flower pot shelf above the banister and spray me a bit and might even send a minute droplet into my cup. I pay it no mind, don't move. After such a long hot dry summer, it takes a little self control to keep form walking right out into the center of the yard and letting the rain soak me through to the skin.

While driving through the downpour at Sikeston, viewing the beautiful gardens through the veil of rain, a jogger, soaked to the skin, jogged unconcernedly down the middle of the street. At first, I thought that he had unexpectedly been caught out in the downpour, but on second thought, he might have just been waiting for such, "to feel the fingers of the rain again," as expressed by the author of Renaissance.

Renaissance. That's what we all need in September. The heat, dust, frustration, etc. etc. of summer is washed away and we, too, can have a rebirth after the rain.

REJOICE!