by Marielle Carlisle
It's raining, it's pouring. Rain in the desert is a beautiful, glorious thing.
For 300+ days of the year, I endure the sun. I love being warm. I love wearing capris and flip flops all year round. I love not having a rear defroster on the car.
But I love me some clouds. An overcast day is cause for celebration. Any rain (trace amounts, sprinkling, cats and dogs) is practically a holiday. A monsoon is an all-out bonaza.
Right now it's strictly rain, no lightening. This last summer we didn't see too much monsoon activity, and I miss it. I miss the rumbling thunder. I miss the blanket of dust that scoops across the valley. I miss the torrential downpour. It's here and gone in 15 minutes, and it's truly spectacular.
I wonder if I would still feel this way about the rain if I lived somewhere where it rained a lot.
Many years ago, about this time of year, we had a constant stream from the sky for about two weeks. By the end of the two weeks, I was done. Done with the gray. Done with the wetness. Done with staying inside. I had soaked up as moisture as I needed, and was ready for the merciless sun to heat, bake, and deep-fry me.
What if I lived somewhere where it rained a lot, and there was two weeks of constant sunshine, with zero cloud coverage? Would I be eager for the rain to return? Would I be itching for clouds? Would the sun's brightness be old news?
Deep Thoughts, by Marielle Carlisle