It’s been raining for three days in Milan. As usual, everyone’s fed up…
Rainy Milan
This seems to be the “normal” response to rain everywhere — for all but farmers with parched crops.
I, on the other hand, LOVE rain. Really. I’m even sad when it ends. And one of only two defects I see when I think of moving back to southern California is that it doesn’t rain enough there! (The other is the absence of a public health care system…)
Look out the window. If it’s raining or drizzly, notice the trees.
Greens become so much more saturated in the cloud-filtered light. The infinite shades of green are so much more clearly differentiated. Ah, and the colors of wet stones — who knew there were so many?
During a pause, when brilliant blue sky peeks through dark gray clouds with fluffy white piled above, a magical, glowing light illuminates the wet hills (or buildings in Milan’s case) in the distance… At those moments, my heart opens and aches at the beauty.
I know, I’m weird. I was virtually the only person who enjoyed the Dharamsala monsoon. As most friends escaped to drier places, I reveled in the daily rainfall, the wet stones, the luscious greens, the sky’s shades of gray, and the everchanging play of light. I even put up with the allergies I developed to mildew.
Dharamsala Market. Girls caught in monsoon rains. by Elizeu & Rommey on Picasa
Rainy days are pensive. (I used to say, “melancholy,” but I think I just liked the word.) They turn us inward into the rich, damp soil of our hearts and imaginations. They’re great days for artwork, for handwork… and for sitting by a fire if you’re lucky enough to have a fireplace. For now, I’ll just dream of that one.
It took me years to understand that most people don’t appreciate rain the way I do. And that some truly suffer on gray days. Once I realized, I wondered if maybe I should tone down my enjoyment — out of sympathy, compassion…
But what good would that do for anyone? My misery isn’t likely to lift their spirits. Quite the opposite!
My pleasure — if expressed sensitively — may even brighten someone else’s otherwise dreary mood. SO I’m sticking with my joy and hoping that a little bit of it rubs off on you.
Happy rainy day!
no comment ;-))
I know, Marlis, I know…
Today the sun’s out here. Is it there too?
I have to say, I love the rain too. I think in my case it’s a direct result of living in Southern California.
It was foggy and threatened to be drizzly today in the foothills. 🙂
I agree – stick with your joy!!
HI Leslie,
Your work is so beautiful. Visually and I imagine in a tactile sense too.
I love the rain too. There is something reassuring to me, to stay inside and do the things I like to do. I grew up in New Orleans where it rained almost every afternoon in the summer. Then later lived in San Antonio where there were droughts, then Santa Fe where you shower with a bucket to save water. I was reassured that rain was a good thing. Recently I started Shalimar the Clown by Rushdie. He describes a woman who hates good weather…puts up with long monotonous months of shadowless sunshine…the loud impolite orb blaring at her like a man laughing too loudly in a restaurant. Ha, I felt like I wasn’t the only one, now to find there are more of us.
Thank you for the comments on my blog!
Leslie,
Rain is great, it is very much part of the deal. But, other than escaping to a more pleasant climate in Jan/Feb (as it seems that you tend to do), how do you deal with the cold and penetrating fog at that time of the year in Northern Italy? That was a rough one for me!
Louise,
I don’t regularly escape to other climates in Jan/Feb. It just happened by chance this year… and last year in Feb only… for unrelated reasons.
I really don’t mind the cold at all, as long as I have warm clothes and gloves. The months that are most difficult for me are July and August. I really suffer in hot, humid weather. No energy and it’s impossible to work with sweaty palms!
Hey Beth,
I haven’t read Shalimar the clown yet, though I love Rushdie’s writing. I’ll have to check that out.
Showering with a bucket is something I’m familiar with from my years in Dharamsala. Not usually to save water, but simply because we had no running hot water. I loved the feel of scooping up the water and pouring it over myself. Sometimes, though, there was no water for days because of shortages or broken pipes. Ironically, this usually happened during the monsoon, so we could put out buckets to collect rain water!