Today is a day for rain. There aren’t many round these parts. If it rains at all, it rushes in and blows off. No time for soaking. Only time for beating. …From what I understand, March precipitation in Colorado is “supposed to be” snow. And while I know the snow pack plays such an important role in this environment (especially for farmers), I am happy for the rain. Glad there is no (more?) snow.
I feel like I am “home.” Rainy days in the East, though sometimes oppressive, are days to recover yourself. Stay inside. Make some apple or blueberry crisp. Clean. Cuddle up with a book in front of the fireplace. Or go out to the movies, something sappy, and indulge in your own box of Milk Duds.
Days like today, I think of my Aunt Margy. Raindrops singing in her courtyard pond. The bleating of the rain against the gingko tree bark. Kitties curled up in dark, soft corners on the den furniture. An old movie on TNT. A good cup of coffee. Later a glass of amaretto.
I have the windows open, so I can hear it. You don’t get to listen to the rain here in CO. If it rains, it’s usually accompanied by wind and thunder and sharp cracks of lightning. I feel like the rain is pouring inside of me. Down through my body. In very good ways. Not in the sad sense.
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