I never understood the instinct to shield oneself from the rain; to cramp together in humid, dark buildings and deprive oneself from the outdoors.  I need to be outside when it happens.  I need to look up at the deep, gray sky and feel ice cold water sprinkle over my face, distorting my vision.

Some people find that hard to understand, but when you live in a place where the sun beams down on you 300 days a year, it’s refreshing and a bit exhilarating to see a shift from the normal.  The normal being oppressive and often times dangerous heat.  The normal being ice water, sunscreen, shorts, hats, and air conditioning.  It’s comforting to have cold, wet days where you can watch the grass come alive while you drink a warm beverage.  It’s nice to feel bundled up and to enjoy warmth rather than flee it.

I remember my favorite rainy day.  I was at church camp in Payson, Arizona.  I was probably 10 or 11 years old.  I went with a small group on a short walk through the forrest.  The sun was shining bright and we were sheltered somewhat by the cool, light air of Payson.  Suddenly we stepped into a meadow with intense light shining down on the wildlife in patches.  Suddenly rain started falling, a few drops at first, and then a steady pour.  The drops sparkled in the sunlight and were slightly warm when they fell onto my skin.  The smell of rainwater and softened tree bark permeated the area without opposition from gas fumes and smokey factories.  We all stood there soaking, listening, and smelling the falling water.

I would like to get away from the glass, steel, and concrete of Phoenix and venture back into the woods.  Maybe someday.