The weather is changing again, from bright shining sun and happy carefree lazy days, to a more challenging and ominous and uncomfortable environment- but also more romantic. We choose to see it like a fountain, not a flood. And we receive it like a shower, not a spill. When it touches us, we touch it back. Rather than tense up and wish it off, and run and cover and hide and curse. Rather we touch it back, and we thank its cold acknowledgement, its drops that awaken nerve endings. We thank it for its smell and its sound affects and its shininess, and how when words are exchanged beneath it, the words are pulled differently, pulled out like secrets, pulled out like whispers, protected by the drowning out. And then we receive the words differently too, receive them like words with hidden meanings, spread apart and interwoven, glorified by the splattering percussion. So when we speak beneath the rain, we share a moment ethereal and vulnerable, and one with trust.
And in the rain, we get to know ourselves better. We introspect, we hibernate, we feel less stimulation to throw ourselves into the world and touch and feel everything with extraverted freedom, like we did in the summer. Instead we brew, we search, we internalize, we sit, we watch. And we feel more. The rain says to me, what do you feel? And it gives me permission to feel it. If the sky can cry, then so can I, and I do like to cry.