Aesthetics of the Invisible World

Rain

Last weekend I was mowing the lawn on my parent’s farm with my father. He was on a small tractor pulling a rear finish mower. I was using a push mower. The clouds rolled in gradually, almost unknowingly. The sky in the hilly river valley along the Illinois river is not that large, so troublesome clouds in the distance are often obscured.

My sweat was washed away by drops of water from the sky. It felt good. It was refreshing. The drops themselves were huge; they exploded when they touched any surface. What was a sparse shower developed into a steady rain and then quickly turned to a torrential downpour. I loaded my mower into the bucket of the tractor. Steam was rising from the torrid motor as it was deluged by water.

I ran out of the field and into the forest for cover. The usually solid, mossy earth was just mud. I waited for the tractor to catch up and listened. There is something absolutely spiritual about a downpour in the forest. The earth itself is alive and powerful. All insects, birds and roaming animals are quiet and take shelter.

It’s antithesis is a beautiful snowfall. The ground is covered by a white blanket. All creatures are silent. The all encompassing spectrum of visual white light - red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet - and audible stillness is paralleled by a downpour’s all-encompassing sonic spectrum of 20 Hz - 20,000 Hz - otherwise commonly referred to as white noise. Heavy rain is without pattern - it is noise by definition.

The effect of all-ecompassing, lively white noise is no better experienced than in a forest. I rarely enjoy a downpour in an urban area. The sound of cars cutting through wets streets have little appeal to me. On the other hand, the sound of water hitting an infinite variety of surfaces all around me, above and below me, is totally immersive and overwhelming.