Confession: I don’t mind the rain.
There’s a certain melancholy about it that’s comforting. These few days of pesky rain forces me to stop and relish the moments. I slow down to a healthy pace. The drizzle washes away all symptoms of fear of missing out. The rain soothes me. Normally an extrovert of epic proportions, the rain coaxes out my inner introvert. She’s deep in there and rarely sees the light, but day after day of gray beckons her.
I admittedly love lounging in my sweats and fuzzy socks on days that look like a live black and white photo filter. There has yet to be a bite in the air so it’s unlike the Dristan commercial chill of a winter storm. I cocoon in this weather, reminded of all the simple things the earth needs to carry-on — water, sunshine, care. I think of the droughts in California and the monsoons of India. The rain is a metaphor of sorts.
I love the sound of rain on the tin roof that shelters our screen porch. The autumnal blanket of leaves covering the park in front of my house is further cushioned from days of rain. I love the squish of the earth underfoot. I’m soothed by the constant pitter patter of drops overhead. I’m in a good place so the days’ rain feels more comforting than chilling
There is beauty in the droplets left behind on blades of grass and on the stubborn petals facing winter head on. There is beauty in the parade of colorful boots as the neighborhood children splish-splash to school. There is beauty in the bounty to harvest from the downpour. There is beauty in the swell of puddles and rivulets that dare you to jump. There is beauty in the mist settling upon my son’s eyelashes. There is beauty in slowing down, at ease without keeping pace.
You might say the rain reigns.