For the first time in several weeks, it is raining in Seattle. It has been sunny and hot for most of the summer, and the entire area is wrapped in a drought. It was discussed on the radio that with the ground where it is, if we got a torrential downpour, it wouldn’t help… so instead, we’ve gotten exactly what we needed: big droplets of water, falling at a steady pace. I can hear the pitter-patter as it falls through the trees outside my window, through which a gentle cool breeze is blowing.

I’ve got Nick Drake playing on my computer, and I’m listening to the rain, talking to interesting people. It is all relaxing in a way that only quiet rainy days can allow.

Everything is muted, softened. The rain is whispering in the background, like faeries in the trees, like the wind through pines on top of a mountain, like the warm, pregnant air immediately after a March snowstorm. It ignites memories in my mind of being five years old and running around in my favorite red jacket, jumping in puddles while swollen warm droplets of water fell from the sky. June showers cutting the humidity from the air like a massive weight… July showers, swimming underwater and looking up at the raindrops hitting the surface.

Storms excite me, but the simple quiet poetry of rain has a subtlety to it that is just as enamoring.