Rainy Days

Where do I even begin? There is something about the gloom and the gray of rainy days. The way the droplets patter against the window panes. The overcoming need for a blanket and cup of coffee -- perhaps a nap? Sometimes if I'm lucky I'll spot a few hummingbirds flitting about, trying to find shelter while their colorful bodices glow like jewels in all the wetness that encompasses the essence of a lazy Sunday.

However, it is the minutes leading up to the storm that I find truly cathartic. When the winds pick up and make the trees dance excitedly. When my neighbor's chimes start jingling a whimsical tune. But above all, that smell!

Thick and earthy, the smell of the clouds before they come rushes into my nose and fills my senses. It envelops me to the point where I feel like I am one with the world around me. No longer a spectator, but a piece of this place we call life. So, from the old metal garden bench beneath, scrawled with the singular word 'Welcome,' I feel welcome indeed.

Staring out at the gloom and the gray, I am happier than ever. Yes, as the roars of nature call to me, my heart sings along. I wonder if the dogs hear it, too. Is such a call too massive that they can't help but flee? Are the feelings too great? As the sky turns black and electricity crackles through the air, I can't help but stay.

Thunder tears through the town and rumbles the ground -- should I hide, too?