I am fond of rain.
To be specific: I like overcast days and steady, drizzling rain. Cool temperatures, a steady patter in the background, dim light, empty streets. I love it. It’s conditions like these that bring a lot of my ideas to the surface, as if they’ve been hiding from the light and noise and bustle of normal days. I try to nurture them and tend them when they’re like this, get them to play a little and explore. Then I take notes–figurative pictures, really–so I don’t forget what they had to say and do on these days.
I often go for long walks when days like this come around. I like going for long walks anyway because it helps me think in general, but it’s even nicer on gloomy, brooding days. I’m even excited about carrying my umbrella (which is a proper umbrella, roughly cane-sized in length and hooked at the handle, not some tiny compact thing that breaks in the first respectable wind), even when I don’t use it to block any rain (you can’t just go around using umbrellas like that for any ol’ trickle, it has to be a heavy, substantial, meaty kind of rain). It’s a prop, like most of the things people around themselves with; a tool or symbol of who we are that helps encourage and propel our brains and attitudes.
It’s easy to lose track of time when I’m out walking, and that… causes problems. Time is the enemy, or at least the belligerent attendant. “Hey, didn’t you have some things to do? Weren’t there deadlines? Errands? Chores? You’ve better get on that stuff! Forget about the rain, man, you need to get busy!”
Time isn’t wrong. But sometimes I’d rather walk around, listen to the rain, and get lost in the world for a while.