Yesterday it rained. People were complaining.
But I loved it. It reminded me of when I was little. One of my favorite experiences was driving home from Edmonton in the rain, and falling asleep in the back seat. I loved how the mood was set by the quiet patter of raindrops on the windshield. I’d then watch them slide hypnotically upward, and then along the side windows, meandering lazily, melding together and branching off again.
It was cool in the car, as if the air conditioning was running, but there was no annoying air blowing in your face. The tires on the pavement hummed smoothly and vibrated gently. The rain clouds made the lighting flat and dim, but not blatant all-out dark. It was a subtle dark, and the sleep it induced was a subtle sleep. It was a more sophisticated sleep than the sleep that the unenlightened masses gorge themselves on in their beds each night. If sleeping in a bed at night were Kraft dinner, then an afternoon sleeping in the back seat in the rain was filet mignon.
