Something there is that doesn’t love the rain.
Something in everyone, that is, but me, apparently. Every time it rains, without fail, someone gripes about how gloomy and depressing the weather is. Grow a mind of your own. If your happiness is dictated by clouds, perhaps you need to see a shrink.
I love watching the clouds in their various hues of gray travel through the skies in packs. I love driving with my windows down smelling the air, now freshly cleaned of exhaust. I love seeing the roads wet everywhere except for the tire tracks in front of me. I love watching the sidewalks dry: the cracks first, then the dryness slowly creeps inward.
I love running outside, knowing the rain is coming, and racing against it to get back home. I love those first few drops as they fall on me; always, without fail, I look upwards to decide whether it’s sweat or rain. I love seeing my car finally shiny, even if it does have tear tracks down the sides. When it rains, my dead plants are given a second chance at life.
One of my first purchases at the hardware store upon buying our house was a rain gauge. No, there is absolutely no reason why I would need one. We aren’t plowing crops or even growing herbs. The only thing we’re trying to grow is our lawn, and we’re failing even at that. But regardless of it’s lack of purpose, I run excitedly to it, as if it were Christmas morning after each rain to see how many quarter inches we received.
The rain always reminds me of home. It reminds me of staring out the front window, not wanting the rain to stop or to continue, just watching, content.
I love how the rain makes me think in black and white.