There is a light breeze in the air as rain falls at a steady pace from the sky. It is not a torrential downpour but more like a slightly frenzied drizzle. I can see the raindrops, like tiny flashes of dampened light, as they plummet down. Clouds completely blanket the sky overhead, vanquishing any hope of blue being seen. I look out into the distant hills. Layers of fog gently thicken around them, similar to the way condensation saturates a window and blurs the colors behind it. The hills are more grey than green, and with each passing second, I see the fog stretching closer toward me, each tree and hillside succumbing to the graceful slumber that it gives.
Despite the cover of clouds above the land, the trees and gardens surrounding my home are surprisingly vivid and bright in color. Perhaps there is only a thin layer of heavy clouds that cannot keep the late golden hour light from seeping through, or maybe the drops of rain across every surface give off a reflective translucence. I would like to think that a combination of these factors is at play. Seeing such luminosity on a cloudy and rainy afternoon seems like an impossible gift. This gift is a soft glow of light that seems to bounce off of the approaching fog and every leaf and flower soaking up the rain. This is something I would not have noticed if I had not taken the moment and the stillness to see it.
A somber day encroaches upon a hungry wilderness that is feasting on much needed rain and coming alive. With the saturation of rain comes the saturation of color. The rich lushness of it all, fending off the dwindling end-of-day light and the ambitious fog, is so beautiful.