April rains

Spring rains and there are wide puddles in the park. I head towards the primary school to collect my youngest, glad for the fenders on my bicycle, directing the splashes away from me, and glad for my raincoat, too. It’s a wet month but that doesn’t change family routines. The school bell rings at 3:15 p.m. and the school is five kilometres away. I can’t wait for a break in the weather.

I won’t be doing this much longer. It’s only a few months before the summer holidays and, in September, my youngest will be starting high school and, therefore, independent. His school would give him permission now to travel home alone, but he’s still growing confidence about his bike hand signals and wants my company. That want makes all these raincoat days worth it.

Some years, the river floods, and the paths disappear under the water. The park is designed for this, the riverbanks landscaped to direct overspilling water onto the grass rather than into the neighbourhoods downstream. I’m glad for that, too, because it means I’m not worrying about my home, only the state of my shoes at the end of the day.

Ancient places

On the way up to the school, I pass Llandaff Cathedral, which is both an active church community and an age-old place. Records show a history of Christian worship since at least the 6th century. The current building is 900 years old with innumerable changes and additions over the centuries. On wet days, it looks as if the thin, Victorian spire has punctured the clouds to let the rain fall.

The cathedral is dedicated to, among others, Saint Teilo, the founder and first bishop. As a sixth century saint, Saint Teilo’s history is not fully known, but the cathedral remembers him in all sorts of ways. I’m particularly fond of the story of his travels to south-west Wales to visit the cathedral of his cousin Saint David where he had to fight off Irish pirates.

A holy well

There is also a holy well that bears Teilo’s name. It was probably the original water source for the community and, later, was an important site for the cathedral community, but now it seems to have more historical than spiritual significance, and even that is easy to overlook. Every day, I pass by it on my bike, and it looks neglected. The railings need paint, and litter has blown in. There is no access to the water in the well.

In the rain, this becomes an Easter metaphor.

As I’ve said, flooding is a concern around here, and the city’s engineers keep an eye on run-off. Though the well looks like a drain, it can’t act like one, so the ground level has been adjusted ensuring rainwater drains elsewhere. There is no water from the well, but rain falls all around.

Sometimes, old ways die. Old ways of seeing become unclear, and wells become obsolete. Our habits, even our traditions, die. But the land isn’t dry. The story isn’t over. Rain will fall, bringing life, and our lives will be flooded with surprising resurrection grace.