Raining, cold, wind blowing the leaves off the tulip poplar, pale gray overcast making the day darker, water sounding the gutter drains, cozy and dry inside.
My first memories of rain.......I am 9, alone, huddled in a fort made of wooden crates and pallets. I can smell grass, newly wet dirt, soggy cardboard,and pine. My hair and shoes are wet, but I am cozy and warm inside my little nest thinking that this is the best place on earth to be at the moment. The FORT, built by my siblings and neighbor kids, was located in the middle of a vacant lot next to our suburban house in Los Banos Ca. We played all summer outside, no organized sports or lessons, no school for 3 months. We just played, it was great. Rain meant time for school, less to play, I spent as much time as I could outside, even in the rain.
Windshield wipers droning on long car trips while I daydreamed, laying tucked up on the shelf, under the back window. DEE- DI- DOV- ER
Stomping in puddles till my boots filled and made the bottom of my toes wrinkle.
Floating home-made boats down the curb gutters with my little brother.
Face up, catching drops on my tongue getting my glasses wet, and soaking my already tangled mop, darkening it from strawberry to rust.