I'm back up at Wernersville for the night. Yes, I know I was just here — on retreat and to see Robin when she came on her retreat. But I've an appointment to see Patient Spiritual Director and a need to spend some prayerfully unplugged time with my writing. Crash is along for the ride. Literally. He enjoyed flying up the turnpike in my Mini. I doubt I'll be allowed to drive back either.
He's silent, too, and I haven't seen him since dinner last night. I haven't tried to find him, either, as I think this is a bit like going off to sleep-away camp and then having your mother decide to stay. (He's writing poetry about his visit to the Silent Land.)
Last night I took two long walks, the second with the intention of ending up at the pool for a late evening swim. As I walked down the front steps and out of the house, I noticed it had grown overcast and breezy. What a relief! The thought briefly occurred to me that it look rather like it might rain, but I knew the forecast was for sun and heat, so clearly it wasn't going to precipitate. When I was at the far end of my planned loop, it started to rain. Just a bit at first, the pond looked liked like a mirror with polka dots. Perhaps I should head back.
The rain is falling harder now, the surface of the water sparkled with tiny effervescent explosions as drops hit, sending water up, and leaving a visible trail of turbulence as they slid into the pond. I notice the few dry patches on the path, shielded by both looming cypress and dense oak trees, and took refuge in one. Now the wind has kicked up, pushing the water across the pond in puffs. The drops are setting up their own interference patterns. The water hits the retaining wall on the far side, and weaves its way back across, creating a series of furiously oscillating standing waves just in front of me.
Now I'm getting more than a little wet. But no matter which way I go, it's the same distance unless I want to risk going straight up the hill through the brush -- but having seen Patient Spiritual Director's case of poison ivy a couple years back, I think I'd rather be wet. G.K. Chesterton's line, "an adventure is an inconvenience rightly considered" floated through my mind. If I got soaked, just how inconvenient would it be? Not all that much, since my plan had been to get cooled off with water in the first place.
By the time I reached the pool, I realized that the rain was letting up, so I stopped and swam. Why not, I was already wet!
Photo is of the pond at Wernersville, when it's not raining.