Romancey Pants

Friends, I sat on the front steps yesterday with The Man. The sparrows were building a nest in the eaves and the warm light, so greatly missed, spilled down on us both. We didn’t talk about much. In fact, we only sat for ten minutes. But we are lucky! Our street has trees, rabbits, squirrels, and peace. I felt, as we turned our faces to sun, as if we were being kissed by it.

Funnily enough, I also feel this way about rain. When I was a kid, I dreaded physical education lessons—for a couple of years, I had a super-abusive teacher. So, the night before my next P.E. lesson, I’d long for rain. Rain, which in England often went on for a full day, meant we didn’t have head out to the hockey pitch and be yelled at for being “weak,” “stupid,” “useless,” “slow.” Instead, we’d sit at tables and make art while the British rain beat down, drumming on the windows with firm but gentle fingers. And at night, when I heard it doing the same on the roof above my attic room, I’d feel happy, safe, protected—an unusual feeling at that time in my life.

So, in Massachusetts, when we get that simple, heavy rain that falls straight down like curtains and lacks any wind, I rush out to the porch and gaze at the rainfall, seeing it hit the tarmac, hearing its comforting power, and I know that a part of me is still in England, curled up, protected, smiling in the night.

How do you feel about the weather? Hope you are well, friends. And if you need good rain, may it come to you today.