Yesterday was the first day of rain we’ve had in some time. If you’re familiar with the Pacific Northwest, then you know how odd that is. Sure, we have nice summers, but it seems like it’s been dry as a bone around here for a solid month, and that just isn’t how we rain devils play out here.
The best thing about rain is the morning after, and how many things can you really say that about? Right. All the humidity is drizzled/poured/bucketed from the air onto terra firma (terra sogga?), and afterwards, especially in the morning, the atmosphere seems so clear that you should be able to pick out individual veins on individual leaves of individual trees at a thousand feet. Breathing seems like something you may have never experienced before; entirely enjoyable as though each draught swept the vapor of ambrosia through your lungs.
Colors are enhanced, leaves hang from limbs like emeralds and turquoise, embedded with the rubies and garnets of the approaching fall. The post-partum sheen of the rain sparkles in the wan light of the clear sky. In the distance, perhaps, a cloud or two, and the promise of more rain to come.