There’s something about a rainy day. Rains means overcast which means I’m more lethargic than usual. I don’t feel nearly as alert or happy.
On the other hand, rain means fresh, damp air that wafts through my third story window and allows me to feel . . . aware. As the rain steadily courses throughout the day, I sit and absorb the cold on my feet and face while the rest of me lies wrapped in several layers of clothing, blankets, and pillows.
I hear cars whizzing by on pavement, their wheels leaving behind the sloshing sound of miniature waves fanning out behind them. Meanwhile, the trickling rain hits damp earth, bounces off hard tiles, and makes its way down drainage pipes, adding to the symphony of water making its impression on the world from above.
Days like this make me crave a thick blanket, warm cup of cheddar broccoli soup, and toasted sourdough with spread smoked gouda.
Rain quietly urges me into furry socks, mismatched layers, and a stack of comfort fantasy novels. It makes me think of fallen angels and men in fedoras with smoke from clenched cigars curling into the shadows. Quiet, solitary walks into the distance and umbrellas in the city.
There’s just something about a rainy day.