Today is my husband’s kind of weather. “It could be cooler,” he’d say, but it’s over cast and rainy and that’s how he likes it. We’re very pale people, we don’t do well with sun. I’m sitting in my big comfy chair, a cup of coffee next to me, as usual, and I have the window just cracked so I can hear the sound of the rain on the pavement. It’s this amazingly soothing sound, this constant drip, but with more character. Each pitter or patter is unique, it’s different from the last sound, but they all play together in harmony, like a song with many voices. It’s beautiful.
I enjoy a good rainy day. My husband will probably be surprised to hear me say this, but I do really like the rain. The soft rain, at least. The rain outside my window where it plays its song, soft and sweet and refreshing. The rain that comes from a light grey sky, as if the blue has just faded to cloud color. This kind of rain that patters outside my window and lulls me into a sleepy kind of mood. That lay on the couch and watch movies all day kind of mood. That curl up with a classic kind of mood. That’s the kind of rain that I like.
It’s the kind of rain that I grew to love as a child because that was the rain you could play in. When it rained from a solid grey sky and they puddle in the middle of the yard started forming and there was not a lick of lightning or a rumble of thunder to be heard we would put on our swim suits, my sister and brother and I, and run out into the wet to play. On cool summer afternoons we’d jump in the giant puddle that was always there, splashing and rolling in it, not caring about the amount of grass sticking to our arms and legs. We would run under the trees and shake them for the waterfall of drops they would release. We’d skip and twirl and jump and laugh as we were slowly soaked from head to toe by the water from the sky and then, when the rain eased up, or when we got too cold, we’d return to the entryway where towels would be waiting and we’d curl up in the living room to watch some Disney favorite of the week, with a cup of hot chocolate or a bowl of soup, perhaps. Dry clothes feel so good after a run in the rain.
May neighbors would probably give me strange looks if I tried to replicate my childhood in this rain. Which is sad, as it is the perfect rain for playing. I suppose I’ll have to settle with the classic for today. Which one, though, I’m not sure yet. I have Frankenstein, but that is more a book for a dark and stormy night. This feels more like romance rain to me. Fall is a romance time in general, so I suppose it’s only right that it be filled with romance rains. The question is, do I pick up Pride and Prejudice as I’ve wanted to for so long, or do I skip to Jane Eyre since I just watched one of the movies and would really like to see if the book is better. Not that the movie was bad, mind you, but the story telling seemed a bit off. Of course, it could be a mystery kind of rain, in which case I could pick up some Sherlock Holmes my husband shared with me. But I’m feeling particularly in the mood for romance just now, so I think I will choose between Austen and Bronte for my rainy day reading.
I’m considering sitting in the window as well. I’ve always enjoyed sitting in windows, and we do have the perfect sills for sitting in. I’ve never actually done it, though. Mostly because there are things sitting in one and the other is rarely uncovered. But today is a special day and as the window is mostly closed I shan’t have to worry about falling through the screen. It’s a very concerning thought. Maybe I’ll do it today, though. Read in the window, not fall through the screen. I’ll grab a pillow to lean against and maybe a blanket and I’ll read Austen or Bronte in the window instead of my comfy chair. I’ll have to leave my coffee behind, though. No place to set it safely in the window.
I hope you all enjoy your lovely, rainy day, my friends. And if you can play outside, please do so for me. It really is a good time.