More often than not,

I am reminded how much

people hate the rain.

“It’s cold to the touch

and leaves an awful

stinging sensation.

It’s followed by lightning—

and thunder—

to give way to

accidents of all kinds.”

It’s true,

I’ve seen the news:

the car crashes;

the flash floods;

the horrible mudslides

and tragic hypothermic deaths.

The feeling of rain

puts most of us

into the mindset

of a cat;

the feeling of water

touching our skin

makes us

uneasy.

Yet,

we’re willing to

dive into it,

just as we are willing

to die without a drop

of it.

Rain carries messages;

from the soft, musical

patter of the glassy green

surface, to the thundering,

stormy wrath against

sandstone.

Rain opens our ears

to seeing fire and rain,

to singing in the rain

to the rain in Spain

stays mainly in the plain.

Without rain,

the first kiss

after helping the girl

you like home

wouldn’t feel as magical;

without rain,

the sowed grains

of farmer John’s

pasture slides

into a flat, brown mess;

without rain,

snuggling up next to

the fireplace with

a cup of earl grey

would be filled in

with clay and

untouched mortar.

The feeling of rain makes us

anxious.

It is that feeling

that allows us to dream

over the horizon,

the rainbow—

cascading lollipops—

and above the stars.

So, by all means,

you may hate

the rain, but

for every time

you wish for sun when it rains,

I wish for rain when it suns.