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Sometimes, is there something poignant about memories made outside in the rain?
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April 5th, 2010
Last night there was a delightful rain, complete with lightening.
I found myself reminiscing over many memories that were born in the rain. Some of them are delightful: great puddle jumping bonanzas. Some of them are sad: letting my tears join with the cleansing rain as I walk and grieve. Some of them filled with frustration: being locked out of the house with no place to go
I suppose it could just be my sentimentality for rain that draws me to ponder its cycle on our good earth, the way it caresses a window, and the fun puddles it forms.
Yet I wonder, if sometimes, there is something about rain that can make an experience stand out. Are there times when the presence of rain makes something more fun, daring, frustrating, exhilarating, etc.?
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