In some ways, I suspect that is a good thing. I'm sure my garden is happy to have some wetness in the early spring as it usually goes from frozen to bone dry and baked in a matter of days. In fact, I don't even mind the rain so much when the temperature is warm and I'm ready for it. I even like walking in the rain.
I recall a summer in my early twenties when the heat and humidity worked in tandem to create an unbearable air swamp. My boyfriend and I could do nothing but lie in our underwear on the kitchen floor. Relief came in the form of a few flashes of lightning and a huge clap of thunder. We threw on shorts and t-shirts and ran out to dance in the rain.
One late summer a few years before, I had just arrived in residence and met a new friend. We went out for a walk in the rain. I expressed a desire to jump in the puddles, but felt like that would be too much. With his encouragement, I took the leap and landed with both feet. Amid the downpour, the resulting splash and submerge completely waterlogged my shoes and the cuffs of my pants. I gleefully kerplunked myself into every puddle I saw for the rest of the walk.
"It seems like you don't have fun like this very often," he said.
It was true. It's still true.
To others, I may seem reserved, even aloof. But that is not who I am. The truth is, I'm just waiting for a warm rain to let me loose.
