It Only Rains in the Backyard

A clap of thunder woke me from a sound sleep and the small brown dog dived beneath the covers in a panic. Lightning cracked and I could hear rain on the roof, a steady, hard pounding rain, likely to last all day. Cat calls were already coming from the kitchen and the black dog was awake and anxious.

Both dogs arrived at the back door in a mindless rush of pre-dawn barking, took one look outside and fled for the safety of the bedroom, but knowing a trick or two myself, I walked to the front door and at the sound of the latch, they were at my heels and then outside in a flash. It was too early for traffic and I knew they wouldn't go far. I felt bad about taking advantage of their theory that it only rains in the back yard but by the time the cats had been fed, they were back on the front steps, rain soaked and shivering but none the worse for their small adventure. I toweled them off and began my own day.

There is a stark quality to this day. The branches of the crepe myrtle are clearly defined against the sky which is gray but also strangely bright although not with sunlight. It's warm for December, and the air is still and filled with damp. It feels like snow somehow, despite the temperature. One street down from me, Christmas Lane is beginning to take shape - each house erects a decorated tree and sets it in a neat row on either side of the street and at night the entire block is glittering with bright, colored lights. To and from work I pass arrays of angels and reindeer, sleighs and candles, made from white lights that glow and shimmer when the sun goes down. Some houses simply hang a wreath on the front door, others revel in a wretched excess of the season. Poinsettias seem to be on every doorstep and porch and the church bells play an endless reverie of chimes and carols. No matter the geography, it's the holiday season everywhere. The dogs don't know this, of course, neither has ever seen a real snowfall or even a Christmas tree and I suspect they share my feeling that Christmas is just another day.

After a certain age, I wonder if there's not a little humbug in all of us - a result of shattered illusions and reality. If they want to think it only rains in the backyard, so be it.