Extraordinary Ordinary Rain

Last night, after a downpour, we spotted a splendid rainbow. At the same time, the entire sky was painted red, blue, and purple; and, to top things off, the pavement we were driving on sparkled, and shined, from its heavenly bath, and the houses we passed were cast in a homey yellow glow that made them appear as the peaceful abodes of the Shire. It was a magical moment, and it reminded me of the remarks G.K. Chesterton made in one of his little gem-packed essays; this one on the topic of something quite ordinary, but not ordinary to him, rain.  He said:

“…this is one of the real beauties of rainy weather, that while the amount of original and direct light is commonly lessened, the number of things that reflect light is unquestionably increased. There is less sunshine; but there are more shiny things; such beautifully shiny things as pools and puddles and mackintoshes. It is like moving in a world of mirrors.

And indeed this is the last and not the least gracious of the casual works of magic wrought by rain: that while it decreases light, yet it doubles it. If it dims the sky, it brightens the earth. It gives the roads (to the sympathetic eye) something of the beauty of Venice. Shallow lakes of water reiterate every detail of earth and sky; we dwell in a double universe. Sometimes walking upon bare and lustrous pavements, wet under numerous lamps, a man seems a black blot on all that golden looking-glass, and could fancy he was flying in a yellow sky. But wherever trees and towns hang head downwards in a pigmy puddle, the sense of Celestial topsy-turvydom is the same. This bright, wet, dazzling confusion of shape and shadow, of reality and reflection, will appeal strongly to any one with the transcendental instinct about this dreamy and dual life of ours. It will always give a man the strange sense of looking down at the skies.” *

In that I can picture Gilbert walking the wet sidewalks of London, or looking out from the windows of Top Meadow during a rainfall, and reflecting on the fact that a man “walking upon bare and lustrous pavements, wet under numerous lamps, a man seems a black blot on all that golden looking-glass, and could fancy he was flying in a yellow sky. But wherever trees and towns hang head downwards in a pigmy puddle, the sense of Celestial topsy-turvydom is the same. This bright, wet, dazzling confusion of shape and shadow, of reality and reflection, will appeal strongly to any one with the transcendental instinct about this dreamy and dual life of ours. It will always give a man the strange sense of looking down at the skies.”

Rain: ordinary, but extraordinary, indeed.

•SCF

 

*excerpt from G.K. Chesterton’s Romantic in the Rain