Growing up I hated rain. I might have rubbed off on my children too because whenever we have to trudge through the battle of raindrops, Larkin spouts “I don’t like rain!”
Only after traveling the world and living through successes and disappointments can I say that I don’t mind the rain like I used to. No, if it were my choice I’d have sunshine 300 days per year (and I did for the first five years of marriage). That’s not the case though.
Instead I have beautiful green. I have flowers that bloom in January on odd years and roses that try to stay through December because they are confused. I have mud puddles in the flower beds and a soaked raincoat the morning I take out the trash. I have rainbows and thunderstorms and power outages. I have frogs that sing their croaks come night and plants that grow without my guidance. I have tea and blankets and a roaring fire.
I have rain. I have a life that doesn’t fit me to a tee: it pulls me along for an adventure.
I will take the rain for all that comes with it.