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Always I am asked, "When does it ever stop raining here? Why doesn't the sun ever come out?" And I just smile and say I hope it rains forever. "Why?" They ask, and I say, because then people like you won't want to stay. Instead you will go home and leave this island to people like me. But there is more to it than that. Rain means life here on the island. There is very little top soil and all the artesian water is trapped deep in the rocks. The tundra is a creation of the air as much as the land. Some plants have roots that never touch soil, but instead they nestle in the moist dark tendrils of moss that cover the earth. Rain is life here on this island. Sometimes it is a misty rain, soft and cool like a veil that has hung some where cold. It falls upon me like the breath of a god as it leans down to kiss the earth. In that moment of realization I am suspended between heaven and earth, caught in a kiss between gods, caught in a love so ancient and divine that I am left breathless. I raise my face and smile while joy radiates through my being and I am lost in the freedom of the moment. The rain is a blessing. Sometimes the winds blow, teasing puffs that try to steal things from the careless. Wild winds blow that push across the land in a fury that takes the rain with them, blowing away to who knows where. But then the mountains catch them and tiny trickles become torrents returning to the sea. The land comes alive and there are waterfalls everywhere. In these times I huddle in my house and watch the rain beating on the panes as though to ask, "Are you in there? Why don't you come outside and be free with us? Why don't you come with us?" But I say no, for I have been to sea and my time there is past. I sleep quietly those nights, with the sound of wind and rain in my ears. Such a lullabye, such a sweet song to lull me into dreams. I was watching the movie, "Instinct." It was about a man who went into the forests of Africa to learn about gorillas. And then he found a final peace of his soul there one day when he realized that he was still clinging to his city ways. The moment came when he was sitting in the rain with a leaf over his head and he realized the gorillas didn't care. They accepted the rain. So he threw away his leaf and lifted his face to the sky to accept the kiss of the gods. And I knew what he was feeling. Yes, go home you who hate the rain. This island is blessed and the rain is the kiss of the gods. Be fearful, for the passion is great and your hearts are so small. But remember this heaven while you live in your industrial hell. And remember that not all angels have wings, but you will know us by the way we turn our faces up to the rain in rapture.
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