A Rainy Day in Summer

by Jean Hughes

This morning, rain pelting down awakes me. Within the sound of the raindrops, I can distinguish six different bird songs. The rain becomes intermittent. Mist rises in clouds from the warm earth. A pulsing breeze moves the leaves. Thunder rolls and smacks. Lightning flashes, but does not streak. It is a typical summer rain on a twilight morning in the hills.

By evening the rain has stopped. Purple martins fly over my house, intermingled with swifts and barn swallows. The martins will be leaving any day now. Meadowlarks and red-winged blackbirds no longer sing.

The birds slip in and out of my life, time after time, making the seasons melt one into the other until a year becomes a whole, like a day with many sunrises and sunsets. Nature stretches the years into a lifetime, slows time down so we can see, hear and feel life. But nature never finds the time to grow old.

I glance into the yard and cry out. There is but one duck and its tail feathers are all gone and it is bleeding. I call for the children to help and we get it into the pen and tend to its immediate needs. Then we go to look for the other ducks. Feathers are scattered through the tall grass. The trail leads to the woods. We look and look, but no ducks. We are heartbroken, especially Chris.

We hear a coyote yipping. Chris runs to get his hatchet and says he is going after the culprit, but I say, "No!" On my land, no creature comes to harm for being itself.

I understand his feeling, but we made the decision to let the ducks have freedom in the daytime. For six months they have enjoyed a wonderful duck life. We thought the dogs would keep them safe, but when the weeds got tall and they ranged too far, they became too enticing to the coyotes. A coyote yipped again and after a surge of emotion Chris asked, sadly, "Why did they choose my ducks?" And after a few minutes he said, "My ducks are coyotes now. Maybe after a lot of changes they will be ducks some day again." I agreed. Life is miraculous.

It was at the edge of dusk when I turned toward home. At that moment, as though resurrected, the two ducks came waddling toward me. If you have never seen unbounded joy, you should have been in my field when the ducks came home. Now, I will have to learn to be a duckherd. My dog, Bal, will be glad to help.

The episode of the ducks shows how easily our minds believe what is not true. We look at the evidence and believe what we think we see there. We blame where no blame is deserved. We reach our conclusions without knowing all the facts.

That is the way it is with our lives. It is best not to make final judgments until the evidence is complete. However, the heart, which knows much that the mind does not, never judges. It beats each moment's tune and sees the beauty, and lives in wonder.

As I walk into my house, a toad in my flower garden sings the last bit of light through the clouds. The fresh, new life in August whistles, wings, blows and yips through the hollows. A katydid clings to my inside wall. I put it out onto a petunia blossom.

I gaze at the night. Summer stands at its summit and is starting over the hill and down into fall. The last half of summer is waiting to be lived.

[You can read more articles by Jean Hughes on Indiana Roadsides -- editor]