We love the rain. After Adam and I were married, we honeymooned in Vermont and returned six months later. We were both sad to leave but knew there would be a day when we'd be back, we felt the timing wasn't right for us then. Twelve years later I realize the timing is never right and had I known then what I know now, I would have stayed, dug in deep, made it work. Who cares if Adam's construction job wages were one third of what they would've been down here, if my dream come true art gallery job in quintessential Woodstock Village paid slightly higher than minimum wage. We had each other, and we had rain that poured down at night creating incredible, soothing rhythms on our shabby tin roof each time there was a storm. That was the best roof we ever had.

As I write this, the sky has opened up and the rain pours down. As a kid I'd play in the rain until soaked to the bone, the air warm, the rain cool. Now I watch Emily do the same thing, once in a while I'll join her, but too often I opt out, happy instead to watch from the inside, or the front porch. What's that about? Damn it, it's been too long since I've been truly "soaked to the bone". The kind of soaked that when you come in you have to tug and tug to peel your clothes off. She's not home right now, but next time... I'm in.

For now, I'll put my feet up, have some tea, and listen. The house is quiet, it's me and the rain.