I have an interesting relationship with rainy days.
I want to sleep. I want to laze and cuddle and burrow. But I cannot. I must rise from the depths of my covers, try to find something to wear that will not melt in the drizzle, bur that will shelter me sufficiently without being too complicated. Mostly this means something that will cover the hems of my pants, like boots — because if there’s one thing I can’t abide it’s wet hems. Then I wrangle my hair into some semblance of an appropriate style, but again, it’s nothing too complicated because I know by the end of the day it will be both limp and frizzy. Don’t ask me how, it just happens this way.
But then again, that soft drumming of raindrops on roofs and windows and sidewalks is so soothing, and the hushed reverence of the day is good for thinking. Rainy days are calming. They are for forgiveness and grace and slowing down.
And have you ever noticed that they gloomy gray of the skies makes all the other colors that much more vibrant? The fallen leaves were like glimpses of a redbird’s wing in a thicket today, flashing red and bright against the cement and the coal-dark clouds. When all around us is dim, we can see the beautiful things so much more clearly. Isn’t that true of life, too?
Just like the leaves on the sidewalk, I am seeing beautiful thing today; and thus, I am thankful for the rain.