Spring makes me think of...

There's something about Spring weather. The fog lifts every morning to reveal new life, birds fly back from their winter havens, the snow melts away and everything just seems more real; revitalized. 

I've never minded the rain. Spring in Potsdam brings a month-long rainy season and, for most people, a soggy lawn and flooded driveways. No one likes flooded driveways. The rain has always been good to me, though. Good things happen when it rains. For instance, the last time it rained, I remember walking to the river with a good friend, chatting about the mysteries of life and the afterlife. It was a good conversation that dominated my thoughts for a few days, and all the while, a soft rain was splashing through the treetops. It was a comfortable background noise, like soft instrumental music, and it made everything so much more than it was. 

When the rain lifts, there's a perfect moment of stillness while the vegetation soaks up the last drops of the fresh water. Creatures from various rings of the food chain begin to emerge, breaking the stillness, but that moment before their intrusion is one of the few things in life that I look forward to. It's calm then. Serene. A soft wind could blow or the sun could be beaming- either way, whether windy or stuffy, that moment can't be ruined. 

Or can it? The rain acts as a natural cleanser, ridding the world of stagnation. It drives away negativity with every droplet, but the rain can also be deadly. What if the rain never stops? What if the winds assist the tumult of a fierce tempest that threatens to erase rather than cleanse? It would be so simple, so convenient, to unleash a storm whose ferocity can destroy our lives in a flood, or worse. Because of Spring. Because of my beautiful rain. 

Of course I'm referring to New Orleans. The tiny kernel of a storm that Katrina began as may have pleased other like-minded people that love storms. They may have been happily anticipating the first droplets on their foreheads, waiting for that moment of stillness when the peaceful rains lift. But they never did. The rain turned on them, screeching with the wind's laughter as house after house collapsed under their combined fury. Lives were lost. Lives were ruined. An entire city was devastated. 

I'm not intending to be pessimistic or depressing. It's a fact of life that the things that bring us the most joy can also, somehow, if the right elements are involved, become a typhoon of sorrows. 

The people of New Orleans didn't succumb to the overwhelming misery of their situation. They rebuilt their homes and are, piece by piece, stacking up the bricks of their lost city. Someday, with the help of the rain that killed them, the plantlife that New Orleans is famous for will grow back. People will come back to the city. Hope will be restored and everything, from the newly fortified walls that surround the city to the blossoming willow trees that flank the French Quarter, will stand tall with a new strength. 

I'm often reminding myself that the things that sometimes hurt me - people, my anxieties, my own body - are merely opportunities to test my mettle. I still love the people in my life that hurt me without meaning to; I still deal with my anxieties about the future and the past; I'm still fighting with my illnesses that threaten my health, because I know that after the rain lifts, there'll be that moment of stillness filled with peace, serenity and time to rebuild. To become stronger.