Marianne: Is there any felicity in the world superior to this? Margaret: I told you it would rain.
Sense and Sensibility
I admit to insanity.
Last night, it rained. The first rain I have seen since arriving here, and, oh, how much I've missed it. And as the thunder growled and the water pounded onto our roof, I laid in bed and cried from sheer joy--and the Man was loving enough to not laugh at me.
But it didn't last long enough for me. I woke up this morning to glaring Texas sunshine (who would have ever expected me to complain about sunshine!) and all I wanted was an Indonesian monsoon or a steady British drizzle or even a torrential Memphian downpour. Something with which to be cozy. I needed the right weather for a cup of tea and a blanket. Since that wasn't an option, I've simulated: this afternoon, I curled up in bed and watched Sense and Sensibility, particularly enjoying the two absolutely soaking rain scenes with Marianne, imagining myself drenched and lovelorn (though I wouldn't waste my time today chasing a blue sky). And since the movie only lasts a measly 136 minutes, I am now listening to rain sounds that I found online. After this, I might do a rain dance.
What is it about rain? There is something so soothing about it, something so comforting, and at the same time, something that borders on danger and adventure. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow once said, "Into each life some rain must fall, some days be dark and dreary." I just wish that this was true for me more often. Sunny Texas, I don't dislike you, but could you try not to rub it in my face quite so much?
So here it is. I'm putting in a request for a nice grey day with plenty of rain, a few claps of thunder, occasional shivers of lightening, and just enough wind to put some variation in the home grown water music. And yes, I'll take a cup of tea with that.