Rainy Afternoon

I’m rather amazed by the things I remember. One would think that we, in our dotage, would recall only momentous occasions. I certainly remember those, but I have other vivid recollections as well.

This morning, for no apparent reason, I was transported to a rainy afternoon in my youth. I am either seven or eight years old (details like that escape me).

I am sitting on the ramshackle porch in my tiny little home in Palos Hills. The porch is roofed, and it is raining. I sit, quietly reading. The dog and two cats are sleeping near my feet. It is raining…a robust, continuous summer rain. Five decades later, I can feel the cool mist on my arms. I smell the aroma of the grateful earth. I see the raindrops exploding on the railing. I hear the sighs of every drop.

This reminiscence is startling in its acuity. I am a child again. I am loving the rain, the moment, life itself.

I truly love rainy days

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As I write this, my mind wanders to other, more momentous, rainy days. I fell in love one rainy evening. I made love (truly made love) to the most amazing woman on this big, beautiful planet on a rainy day...


I will forever love rainy days.

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