It’s not often that I lay in my bed at night in southern California and hear rain falling on the roof. But it does happen. And when it does, my thoughts go to the majority of years of my life, spent in the rainy southeast. I remember all the nights of falling asleep with rain pounding on the roof. The far off sound of thunder and lightning providing accompaniment, puncturing the rhythm of the storm.

I miss that sound of thunder. A lot. I miss the heavy downpours where you can’t even see the other side of the lake. And storm water runoff so heavy with green pollen that it appeared the street gutters were running with paint. Every car is some shade of green. Pine trees puffing clouds of green pollen smoke when the wind blows. You can almost hear all the plants moaning in pleasure from the luxury of free water falling from the sky. And how crystal clear the atmosphere is after the storm has washed all the particulate matter out of it.

Enough. Time to let this rain lull me to sleep.