Rainy Days are My Favorites
Sometimes I think I got left on the doorstep by visiting aliens. Most folks I know hate Mondays and rainy days, while I’m just the opposite. Mondays are the signal of a brand new week when anything can happen. It’s the start of a new adventure, the beginning of a clean slate.
Sunny weather makes one chipper and optimistic–unless you live where sunshine means 120 degree, oven baking heat and a blistering wind that microwaves you between the front door and the car. Rainy days refresh and energize. These are the days I can snuggle up with a good book and drift away to another reality. Rainy days quiet the spirit, sooth ruffled nerves from the week’s hectic, frenetic pace. Low lying clouds mute sound, dampen the harshness of city noise, and transform the rough caw of doves to a gentle melody. Sunny days are all heat, and sweat, and burnt sand and rock.
Sunny days are concrete and glass sizzling and melty tar charring the air. I like the smell of rainy days: the coolness of moisture dripping on green leaves, tingeing the air with a clean scent of growing things; the peaty, mud scent of wet earth, the lighter fragrance of chalk from caliche power slowly dissolving into a morass of glue. But the thing I love most about rainy days is the stillness, the utter quietness that embraces the land like a gentle, loving caress. After days of hurly burly rushing, a rainy day is the white space on the page of life. Rainy days open possibilities to reflect, regroup, recharge, to take stock of who I am and where I want to be.
So when I grow up and own my own home, I want a glass room off the back of the house. One with windows that open to let in the clean scent of rain-washed air, the bracing chill of a water-laden breeze. I’ll sit back in my rocking chair, wrapped in a blanket, drinking coffee and experiencing nature at its finest.