You know what one of my favorite feelings in the world is? When it’s pouring down buckets and I’m sitting under a shelter inches from the rain, just listening to it come down.
Where I grew up there was a park with a gazebo, and I loved getting caught in the rain in the park, because for me, there was something peaceful about sitting in the gazebo and listening to the rain hit the roof. Maybe because often I’d be the only one in the park in the rain, but who knows? It was relaxing. I mean, a gazebo won’t protect you from the wind nor the cold but I dunno, just the fact that I wasn’t getting wet that made me feel… safe.
Maybe it’s nostalgia talking, I dunno; but I’m sitting here in my falling down house and it’s pouring down outside. I know this house is on its last legs, but that’s okay. I’m on my couch with my blankets, shawls, and coffee — snug as a bug in a rug — and the rain outside is fierce. But the roof is solid, and I can hear the rain coming down on it and sliding to the gutters to be carried away. I can see it coming down outside the windows and smell the rain in the air while me and the pets are warm and dry (Doug is on his way home from work, poor guy). And despite the age and impending dilapidation of our house, I’m feeling like in my little corner of the world, in this moment in time, everything is okay. Right here, right now, I’m just going to forget what’s going on and enjoy the sound of the falling rain.
You know what? I’m cool with that.