During the end of high school, I slept in a room with three walls of windows. These were old-fashioned, double-hung windows and not the wall of glass one sees in modern houses, yet they let in lots of light and wasps. The light I loved, the wasps less so. They also provided a spectacular view of Midwestern thunderstorms. I would lay in bed watching the trees thrash in the wind and the electric discharges so grand that they escape the rational. Being surrounded by one of these storms while drifting off to sleep is primal and strangely calming experience.
As a camping family, we often also listened to the sound of the rain on the tent, a big canvas dinosaur that we borrowed from our neighbors. I loved the sound, but being the youngest and sleeping at the foot of the tent on an incline meant that the inevitable leaks always found their way to me. Later in life, I tired of borrowing others’ leaky tents, and I ensured my own tents were water proof. Since then, I have enjoyed many storms and rain showers from the inside of a tent.
One of my favorite ways to awake is to the sound of rain on the roof and the amazing birdsong that always comes with a light morning rain.
It seems that rain has a similarly soporific effect on my children. Their room has a skylight upon which the rain drums a steady rhythm. Monday my son fell asleep in the afternoon as we had a downpour, and he stayed asleep for over two hours, maybe three. I, too, passed out dreaming of my small garden drinking in this water. Mornings, too, when the rain falls leads to a quieter house and longer sleep.