On the rain

As I sit here listening to music through my computer I can hear the rain pound the ground outside.

I've always loved the rain, a good downpour. It feel so romantic (in the literary sense of the word). Whenever I hear it my mind conjours up an image of a cozy dim room, perhaps in a log cabin, with the rain pounding away outside and a fire roaring in the stone fireplace. I sit on the couch with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders, a good book in my hand and a cup of delicious coffee in the other. I always feel the sudden impulse to sit and write as I did just now.

This is just a fanciful image though. Besides my grandparent's house I have never lived in a house with a fireplace and the fireplace in their house hasn't been lit for years.

Of course, the romantic scene works best when the clouds are obscuring the sun outside while I'm thinking about it. Right now the sun has found a hole and is pouring in through the window over the sink... just to my right.

Oh well. This image never lasts long enough. The heavy downpour lasts for a minute or two and then dwindles down to random spurts... the kind of weather I care for the least.

One final note on the rain. Even though I absolutely love the rain, the heavy downpour, I really can't stand the little spurts that drag on for hours. All that water does is make puddles and get the hem of my pants (or skirt) wet and a little dirty. We can't have everything can we.