A gentle rain falls through the sultry gray air to the green leaves of nearly blooming hollyhocks. Droplets of water splash on the tough, hand-shaped leaves, land on those outstretched hands, roll downward, hang momentarily on the fingers, glistening in silvery suspension, then slowly, reluctantly fall to the ground.

Hollyhock leaves shudder beneath the weight and velocity of the water, but they quickly bounce back. The sturdy petioles stand vigilant against the rain, protruding from the stem in defiance of each assaulting drop.

The garden during a summer rainfall is a study in nature’s tolerance and endurance, in evolution’s clever manipulation of physics and the endeavor of living things toward life.

Some plants capture the rain on their leaves, funneling it toward their roots in an efficient, swift motion. The waxy, sword-shaped leaves of the iris, day lily and ornamental grass capture and direct rain toward the soil beneath a dense canopy of foliage. Gleaming drops of rain flow down the glossy leaves of cup plant and pool where each leaf attaches to the stem. Birds and butterflies drink from the pools days after the rain.

Some garden flowers become sadly diminished in the drizzle. Iris blooms, delicate mallow flowers and cheery blossoms of baby’s breath are too delicate to prevail through a brief shower, let alone a pelting rain. Other plants seem to glow through it all. The gorgeous individual flowers of the common foxglove droop downward in elegant bells. In the rain each pink bell is transformed to a velvety, gleaming work of art with unearthly saturated, penetrating color. The droplets cause the bells to dance and spring around the sturdy stem. They seem delighted to endure, cheering on the rain as it aimlessly falls from the sky.

Corn poppies come to a slow, sad ending even in a light sprinkling of summer’s showers. Scarlet-colored petals wane, droop and fall under the weight of the water. Burdened by nature’s assault, all that is left is a long stem, wavering in the damp wind.

While the veronica, Maltese cross and bachelor’s buttons are flattened by the rain, other garden plants are unfazed by the most penetrating downpour. Egyptian onions, ligularia, coltsfoot and helenium don’t even seem to notice the driving force.

There seems no clear delineation between which plants hold up in the rain and which suffer badly. Perhaps plants that have leaves or stems with fine hairs are less enduring. They seem to absorb the shock of each pelting drop. Plants with lustrous leaves seem to prevail. They appear to deflect the shock of rainfall. In any case, after the rain, some plants are weak, others are strong.

A year with plenty of rain is a gift from nature. There have been years that the soil in my garden has looked cracked and pained with drought. So far this year, the frequent rain has kept it looking beautiful and rich. Although it may be destructive, rain satisfies the garden (and the gardener’s soul) in a way no hose could.

There have been storms this year (particularly those with mad, hot-pink fingers of lightning bolting from the sky) that have made me want to hide under a bed like my pets sometimes do. But I await a gorgeous, tender rainfall in the dry heat of August when I’ll lie in the grass, imagine I’m a blade and funnel the rain down to my roots.

Diana George Chapin is the NEWS garden columnist. Send horticulture questions to Gardening Questions, RR1, Box 2120, Montville 04941, or e-mail them to dianagc@midcoast.com. Selected questions will be answered in future columns. Include name, address and telephone number.