I love the moment right before it rains, when the clouds move over my house and the light from outside drops away. I can feel the pause in the air, like the rain is waiting for me to flashback over the storms I’ve witnessed in my life and for a moment, I can picture myself on a cabin porch in the woods with the sounds of rain pelting leaves for miles around me, or on the balcony of a beachfront hotel, looking out over the waves as the raindrops form splotches in the sand. Then the rain starts and I listen to the sound of it against my flat roof and the window panes. I remember that it’s February and it’s cold outside, and I’m thankful that I already took the dog for his walk. I think that maybe I should watch a movie, or crawl back into bed and let the steady patter of rain ease me back to sleep. But instead I just sit in my darkened living room, listening to the rain, and I try to remember what it was like to be a little girl who didn’t mind getting soaked.


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