Of that Once Blithe Spirit
‘Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain…..’
…just the thing I’ve been doing for over twenty four hours … listening to the sound of it fall, interspersed by deep bass rumbles of thunder as accompaniment; torrential downpours easing into a regular but incessant patter, suddenly all at once rising to a deafening crescendo. The sound of the drumming on a tin roof, ‘splish- splashes’ on solid concrete buildings and roads even the hushed swish on leaves and trees can be so soothing. I so long to close my eyes and allow the rhythm make me sink deeper into the snugness of a cozy bed drifting to a sleep, free of every care… as I did at a time long ago, and which I used to every time it coincided- this rhythmic lullaby with bed-time. The involuntary squeal of delight then that usually followed, too, I seem to miss.
At the mention of rhythms of a kind, on a note similar, I travel back to that beat that comfortingly rocked and swayed to a measure keeping time and cadence of a certain tempo with which its wheels turned, lulling me to sleep serene . Railroad journeys have held their own charm, this, being one fascination worthy of note. Moving in sync to each timed ‘clackity- clack’ was an experience unforgettable since its discovery, the pleasure escalating with the building momentum and pace in every traveled mile.
The beats, tempos and measures remain as a refrain regular in the melodies I write about, but there is yet, a change. A change in me and my attitude toward them; a part that holds me from enjoying it to its fullest; that lurking fear, grown, felt and seen from effects caused of indulgences beyond control. That risk of loss in having an excess of anything sits smug in my adult conscience. It quickly draws me away from soaking in the fun.
Where is that carefree outlook of happy days when nothing could tie our joys down?
Today, I drag myself away from this alarming dread and trepidation. Placing it all in the hands of that one far greater mind who knows and sees all things and is in control of every other thing beyond my own .
Learning to say –‘He who knows best is in charge’ I know I can once more join in, to be in harmony with the melodious rhythms, donning a ‘lighten-up’ approach.
No more anxious- filled ‘what-if’s’ is sure to find that once blithe spirit in me that could listen to the endless rhythm of the beating rain….. resting, while it pours torrents.
‘Where are those Happy days….’ ‘Once there were green fields …..’
Lyrics we could relate to if we look back on those happy-go-lucky , carefree days that were