People feel one of two ways about rain. I am part of the camp that is much, much smaller than the majority that find it a nuisance and are apt to invest in the best rain boots that money can buy as well as multiple umbrellas. I have never been one to feel inconvenienced by a rain puddle — I find myself these days calculating when, exactly, I will be entirely too old to jump in them. At 30 I do not feel I am there yet – I jumped gleefully in the collected pool of rain that gathered at the base of my porch just last week without abandon.
Rain provides me with a measure of delight during the day and at night makes me want to go home and seek all of the sources of comfort there, using it as my soundtrack.
There are many things I like about my little nest but one thing I love the most is its acoustics when there is a steady rainfall at night. As the raindrops hit the skylight panels the sound of the impact from those little drops are amplified and can be heard all over the house, even in my bedroom — even under the overstuffed feather duvet thrice my size and nearly half my weight.
I enjoy the feeling of stillness and solace. There are few things I enjoy more than seizing the opportunity of “hiding out” that a rainy night provides me. A night like this finds me in the dark with the candelabra in the fireplace flickering faintly as I listen to the symphony of the falling rain and try to express to God things for which I am sorry, for which I am thankful, and I suddenly realize that I am limited by my language. I then go back to listening to the rain and remember this is necessarily the case, and as in all relationships listening is as important as speaking.