I love rain. The sound of rain. The smell of rain. The nip in the air after a cold rain, the break in the heat after a summer rain. I love dampness in the air once the storm has passed. And wet city streets littered with puddles of reflective artwork. The sun bursting through the retreating thunderhead as if Jehovah is taking a bow for his brilliant performance.
When I was a kid, we lived in a very long single-wide mobile home; or as we liked to call it, "The Bowling Alley". This humble little home allowed my folks to pioneer and live simply. I didn't know it was humble or small. For me it was simply 'Home'. Full of love and a place to make wonderful memories. But what I most fondly remember was our metal roof. We called Oklahoma home at the time, and boy could we get some thunderstorms! I remember falling asleep to the deep rumble of thunder, and the echoing roar of a torrential downpour. I would snuggle even deeper under my covers and hope it lasted all night. I still harbor this childish thrill, and wish ever so much, with every rainstorm that I still had a metal roof.
It's raining this moment as I type, and it makes me happy.
No comments:
Post a Comment