the Rain's song

I wish I could say that I wrote this on a romantic whim whilst seated at the foot of a wide, open window all wrapped up in a throw and with a cuppa by my side even as the thunderstorm raged outside.

And I also wish that I could say that I wrote this even as the windows blow raindrops onto my face and it was so magical and fleeting that I had to write it all down.
 

But I can't. 

Because  although I was near an open window and I had my laptop open, and there were the tiniest of raindrops falling on my face, such romanticism didn't happen.

No matter how hard I tried, the music of the rains overwhelmed me to such a degree that, despite my best efforts to concentrate, I got caught in a writer's block where no words would form, and where no sentences would flow.

 

I must have been more restless than I thought.

 

Either that, or the energy of the late evening tropical flash thunderstorm was more forceful than I thought it to be.

 

People who know me know that I have a special affinity for rain.

They know I'm not one to carry umbrellas. They know I'm not one to shy away from a drizzle. And they know I'm not one to go out without a scarf, hoodie or parka. :)

That's just me.

 

I love being all wrapped up in my hoodie when I happen to be outdoors in the rain.

 

I love being by a wide open window when I'm indoors from the rain.

 

Part of it, I suppose, has to do with the fact that I'm a hygge sort of person and it is very calming to wrap myself up in a thin fleece throw, sit by the open window hugging my knees, and watch the raindrops as they land onto the glass, clatter onto the plastic blinds, and splatter onto my happily upturned face.

 

It doesn't matter to me that the cushions I'm leaning on are getting wet. They'll air themselves out.

 

Neither does it matter to me that the floor is becoming wet from the relentless onslaught of rain. We have a mop.

 

What matters to me is that right here, right now, my eyes are closed, my ears are open, and I hear the clatter of rain as she falls onto the wet asphalt road, I hear the heavy thud of water as she gushes from the rooftop gutter onto the cemented floor below, I hear the rumble of thunder from somewhere far in the skies above, and I hear the squish of rubber tires as the cars drive by on the shimmering, shiny, wet road.

 

It is a sensory experience being here by the open window listening to the music of the rain.

 

Nothing could be more pleasant.

 

Nothing could be more assuring.

 

Nothing would I want more.