I love rain. I think it comes from the mad crush I have on Britain. The Brits just make umbrellas seem so understatedly glamorous. I’m Canadian, so a wistfulness for all things British is just part of the package, and when I look out the window at a downpour, I think of BBC movies and Jane Austen. It can’t be helped—I’m just wired that way.
Rain is very good for writing. It’s rife with story ideas. A sunny day reminds me of all my errands to be done and leaves me with a hundred options of ways to fill the family’s time, but when it rains, my options are blessedly limited. I love standing on the warm side of the glass, looking out the window and watching the water drip from trees as the dark gray clouds hug the earth. That’s when the story ideas come pressing in.
I live in the prairies, mind you, so I have to be wary about exactly how the clouds hug the earth…
But regardless, I love the damp and the chill, the sound of rain whipping against the windows and the smell of wet dirt.
I feel just the tiniest bit guilty when I stand at the window and sigh contentedly at a downpour, though. My husband works outside, so while I’m enjoying the coziness of watching rain from the inside, he’s out getting drenched wherever he is out there. Of course, whether I sat inside and silently hated the rain or not, it wouldn’t change just how drenched he gets, but I can’t help but wonder if I should be sympathizing with his plight or trusting in his manly ability to withstand the weather. I tend to decide to just enjoy the rain… You know, with that tiny finger of guilt wriggling up through it.
What is your favorite weather?