For the Love of the Rain

“Some people walk in the rain, others just get wet.” – Roger Miller

It’s raining again in London.  I’m lying on the couch, listening as the rain rat-tat-tats outside my window.  The rain in England constantly surprises me.  I expect it to be insistent and hard, matching the continually grey skies.  I do not expect the rain to be indecisive, falling half-heartedly and intermitedly.  Fading in and out as though indifferent to its purpose.

I am a child of the California rain.  In the land of movie stars, the rain is transient and soft like cotton candy – a delicious treat that melts away in an instant.  My love affair with the rain began in California.

Rainy days in Los Angeles were always a treat.  They happened so infrequently and ended so abruptly that I always felt they needed to be celebrated to their fullest.  Even after I had aged past the point where it was considered “seemly”, I could be found running through the rain, kissing in the rain and generally enjoying the feel of it on my face.

Having only known the California rain, it wasn’t until I spent time in Guyana that I realized how much the qualities of the rain can differ from place to place.

In Guyana the rain fell with determination.  It poured out of the sky in curtains, each drop racing to hit the ground first.  I might have stayed drier standing under a waterfall. 

I fell in love with the intensity of the rain in Guyana.

My days in Guyana were split into mirror images. Half the day was spent in bright sunlight, paired with a blistering heat that seared the skin after mere minutes under the equitorial sun. The nights were pleasantly warm, humid and featured torrential downpours – the likes of which I had never expereinced before.

At night I would lie awake in bed, listening to the rain through the open window. In the dark of those nights, the rain sounded like thunder on the corrugated tin roof. The sound was soothing and it fit with the scents of lush greenery and wet dirt that floated through my window.

I spent those wet Guyanese nights in a state of very near contentment, with one exception.  Nights found me seeking protection under a mosquito net.  Despite that precaution, I managed to trap a rogue insect inside my net nearly every night. 

I never noticed the bug bites until the next day and in the peace that came after midnight, the buzzing only added to my overall feeling that the atmosphere was perfect.  I was happy to skimp on sleep during those nights so I could meditate to the sound of the South American rainy season.

These days, I love living in London.  Here, the rain is faithful and I am never left      waiting long for its return.  I even saw the winter face of the London rain when it snowed several times this year. 

The world is full of different places, all of which have their own versions of the rain.  Each full of nuances and subtle differences, just like the different places where the rain falls. So here I am, gently drifting off to my favorite sounds and day dreaming of the hundred different flavors of rain I haven’t experienced yet.