|The raindrops on my windshield that|
greeted me when I left work today.
I remember summers from my childhood when the sun would bake the clay soil of our yard to the point of opening up cracks that could swallow my feet whole. Once they opened up, it seemed like no amount of rain would ever make them close again. But eventually, they would. Back then, rain didn't make me terribly happy despite how much I knew we needed it. Because in Tornado Alley, rain was often the harbinger of storms that scared the bejesus out of me.
After moving to Pennsylvania, it took a while to adjust. The worst storm I've seen here in almost 14 years dropped marble-sized hail for a few seconds. In Kansas, that's like the opening act for the real show. Now, rain is what makes things beautiful. And thanks to Dr. Who, I know that the smell I love so much is called petrichor - and there isn't a price to be paid after smelling its announcement of a coming shower. Sure, I might complain when I forget my umbrella and have to run through a downpour, but that's about my vanity.
Rain makes me happy.