Rain

Living most of my life in Southern California, first in the Mojave Desert and then in San Diego,  I had always wanted to live someplace where it rained more than twice a year (a slight exaggeration, but not by much).   I can remember running outside when it rained, lifting my face up to the sky, and then jumping in a few puddles (even as an adult).  I became a bit of a weather geek, watching the weather forecast constantly, hoping for a "chance of precipitation" in the five-day forecast,  and becoming very grumpy if that chance dissipated, as it often did. The light mist of a foggy morning didn’t cut it for me. I wanted rain, real rain, pounding rain, saturating rain.  Rain that would soak everything, running off of the house onto the pavement, rain that I could hear on the roof and that made me suck in my breath with the power of it. 

When we moved to Oregon, I got my wish.  ​

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