It’s raining. Really raining. Has been all day, and I love it. Typical, right? California girl talking about how much she adores a good downpour.
But something about it is cleansing, freeing, calming. Time slows during thunderstorms. Maybe all the skyward chaos swirling outside my cozy four walls overpowers everything else. Perhaps it’s the sound of water falling on my patio, pinging against metal and terracotta and canvas in soft melodies. Or the cold that chills my toes and sends me searching for my wool socks from Ireland and a warm blanket to snuggle beneath.
But ultimately I think it’s because, despite the science behind precipitation, water falling from the sky is so damn magical and mysterious.
It goes back to being a child and finding delight in things I hadn’t fully learned yet. I saw the same spark in my son this morning. He sat in his car seat, looking up at the sunroof and marveling at the drips dropping on the glass. He pointed and jabbered about them the entire ride home.
Pure wonder. That’s what I saw in his eyes. In his smile. In the way he wouldn’t look at anything else but the gray clouds outside.
I hope he hangs onto that feeling forever. I think we all need some of that long after childhood.
Wonder is good for the soul.