It’s been threatening rain all day here.
I keep wondering if I am the only person who wishes it would, actually, just get on with it and rain already.
I love the rain.
I have always loved the rain.
When I was young, rainy summer afternoons meant sleeping in, late breakfast, and extra time in the afternoon to write letters.
At night, at my sleep-away summer camp, it meant listening to the quiet, steady rhythm the rain would make as it quietly tapped on the roof of the old wooden cabin.
I’d stare at the wood beams from my top bunk and try to count how many names carved in to the posts over the years I could read. I’d never be able to read them all, and eventually I’d get tired from trying and fall asleep.
It rained when I gradudated from high school.
In college, rain meant crew practice was shortened, or moved indoors. On those days, if we were really lucky, Nik (my coach) would encourage us to swim in the indoor pool as a way of strength training.
It rained when I graduated from college.
It rained during my wedding.
I expected it to rain when my son was born, but, instead, he was born during the hottest summer on record in recent years.
It rained when I rain my first marathon.
It rained during my last morning run with a friend in Boston.
I can’t wait to get rained on during a lunch run with the crew here.
I wonder if I’ll be the only one smiling.