On Rainy Days

The clouds have started rolling in over the last few days. I see that it is wet outside' but have somehow managed to miss the rainfall. I love rain. Perhaps this love is a product of how rare it is in Los Angeles, I cannot be sure, but I love the sound of it, the feel of it, the splash after pushing through branches and leaves, the pools that form, the mud, and the darkness.

I've never been a fan of bright sunny days due to my propensity to burn rather than tan, which has probably contributed to my love of rain. I do believe the city is more beautiful when it is murky, gaining a mysterious quality, something shadowy, strange and hidden. 

When I was younger I used to run barefoot in the miniature streams that formed around my neighborhood, taking in the water, letting it soak through my clothes. But I've changed. For example, the other day I told my cousin to wear a jacket because the weather was getting colder. This, from me, a man once ridiculed while living in Armenia for his propensity for wearing shorts and sandals in the middle of winter. Those days seem to be over, and I'm not quite sure why.

I have been hoping for rain for a while now. I've missed it. Rain is a reminder of good times, and it recalls cozy warmth, like coming home and drying off or riding out a cold night underneath a thick blanket. But more than feelings, rain gives memories back. I recall my cousins and I sleeping in the attic of our uncle's house in Cambridge; and falling asleep on the couch at the student center in college while looking out into the quad; or letting watching a stray dog's eyes light up as I let it into my hallway so that it could avoid the cold night.

Good memories sometimes get buried and it takes a special trigger to bring them back to light. Welcome back rain, I hope you stay a while.