A rainy day . . .

It is a rainy day in Portland, OR.

One of my favorite kinds of days.

I was definitely born to live in this place. Either here or Scotland, that has yet to be determined. Since I haven't yet been to Scotland, Portland is looking more and more likely.

I know that I am in the minority about the rain. I hear a very vocal contingency among friends, family, and strangers who long for the sun, long for it to dry out, long to go do things out where they won't get drenched. And I get that. Summer time is beautiful here too, the light in the trees, the unending green, the hikes in the Gorge.

But I have this little love affair with the rain.

I love it's soundtrack. The unending background of it, so constant yet uneven. It's soothing and dreamy, melancholy and calming. I love to nap on a Sabbath afternoon when it's raining. There is nothing quite so cozy. And I never feel guilty wiling away hour upon hour of reading when it's raining. No one really expects that I'll be doing anything else. And just now, as I'm writing and drinking tea, the rain is the perfect counterpoint.

I even love to walk in the rain. It's just water after all, and when it's not really cold out, who care about getting wet? I just got back from a long walk and everything smelled clean, wet, fresh, and alive. The view from the top of the hill was slightly blurry and mysterious, like a veil between me and the rest of the world.

I actually love the feel of the water dripping off the tip of my nose and the slight squish of my shoes. I love knowing that all this water is going to make everything beautiful in the next few weeks and months.

I enjoy the puddles and don't avoid them. You should never grow up so much that you're too dignified to jump in puddles. You can always wash those clothes.

I do understand why some people dislike the rain. It's rough on picnics, creates mud, and the clouds can get a little gloomy after awhile. I wouldn't want it to rain every day, that would get a bit monotonous.

But I do love a rainy day.