A Little Fall Of Rain

I love rainstorms. When I was growing up we would sit in the sunroom during night tempests with the lights off and the ceiling fan on high speed. Not only did we have a breathtaking panoramic view of the stunning miracle of rainfall and thunder, but we also had the pseudo-natural strobe effect that lightening bolts had on the whirling fan blades. Yes, I grew up in the country. And it was beautiful. And green. And fresh. And wondrous.

Every time I catch myself in bitter spirits about the weather or complaining about the inconvenience of mudpuddles, deflated hairstyles, or general depressive anxiety from cloud-laden skies, I cannot help but marvel at my own blind cynicism and selfishness. Rain used to brighten my days, so to speak. I have photos documenting some of my finest rain dances, spinning in rain-drunk circles in the emerald grass and leaping giddily like a forest sprite, careless and soaked and incandescently happy. It's rejuvenating - literally, figuratively, spiritually, metaphorically.

"And rain will make the flowers grow."

I'm waiting for tulips. And daffodils. And irises.

If I were a maker of perfumes, I would make one and call it 'Spring,' and it would smell like this cool, sweet, early-morning air. - Ann Petry