I never tire of the rain. I don’t think there has been a single time in my life where I thought or said, “Man, I wish it would just stop raining.”
I’ve never personally had to deal with much flooding, so I guess I’m selfish in that sense – to always be wishing for more rain.
It’s the smell, and the earth as it dampens and changes color under an otherwise melancholy sky. Even with subdued light, a nearly undiscovered beauty is exposed for yearning eyes.
It’s something about the senses. The sunlight is often too blinding.
Sure, the sun allows for activity, browned skin, sun-soaked bliss. But the rain allows other things – peace, solitude, quiet, reflection.
It wraps me up in its sounds and smells and allows me freedom. I surrender to this blanket and awake refreshed and revitalized.
I write best in the rain; I think best in the rain; and as the drops trickle down my face and into my eyes, I can finally see.