Our house is encased in the sound of rain, punctuated by bouts of thunder as the windows flash around us. I’m in ecstasy.
After a long dry spell, the rain returns, reminding me all the reasons I love it: the smell, the sound, the feel of it even. Of course, all I’m saying is dependent on it not raining for days on end in freezing temperatures (when I’ll crave the tail-end of summer instead).
This morning, I did yoga on the screened-in porch, downdogging while nudging a curious dog off my mat, and warrior-ing while trying to keep a straight face when the cat leaped up and missed her mark. Sometime between my first and last sun salutation, the rain came, reaffirming for me how much I love weather, stretching and breathing, and challenging my muscles on a Sunday morning.
Now after an afternoon of heat and light, the rain returns, and with a vengeance. The dog sleeps in a ball by my feet. The cat knocks over all our vitamins trying to catch a moth. The ceiling fan twirls its usual hum. The night sounds make a shelf for me to sleep on, and because it’s raining, sleep well.