I love rainy days–always have. And, I love the memories of the people who have shared them with me.
Yesterday, rain fell from pewter-colored skies, running in rivulets down the windows, puddling in the yard, playing hide-and-seek with hungry squirrels at the feeders, and keeping winter birds hidden away among sheltering bushes. I listened to the drops splash on the deck and remembered being with my family during some pretty hard thunderstorms in the past.
Last May, my brother and niece from Minnesota paid us a visit. My brother was wishing heartily that he could go to sleep to the sound of rain on the roof. So, that’s what happened! Not only did we have rain, we had a tornado warning. My niece, my brother, and I spent part of the night in the hallway, waiting for the all-clear to be sounded. Now, we tease him about the power of his wishes and caution him not to over-do them.
My parents’ home in Tahlequah is where a lot of rain memories center. The aroma of fresh-perked coffee, Mom and Dad and I sitting at their kitchen table, rain blurring the tall, dark oaks in the back yard, and a feeling of being safe, loved, warm and dry.
Here at my Arkansas home, a hard rain causes water to run down the hill in the little ditch beside the street. When Sara and Nathan were small, we launched many a leafy boat down that stream, trotting along beside it, having boat races, and just generally having fun.
Rain is the perfect accompaniment for reading or for writing. Many of the Darcy and Flora tales or the Ned escapades have flourished under the inspiration of rain dashing against my window. Remember Grave Heritage and the flood of the century?
Rainy days–a perfect time for making memories.
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