I did plan to get on here and talk about bass and drums. Don't think I forgot about that. However, in light of recent weather patterns that have directly affected my mood, I'm choosing to talk about the rain instead.
When someone mentions the month of June, our imaginations fill with pictures of the beach, buckets of beer or wine, pool parties, or maybe even the last day of school. Those are all lovely pieces of Americana, but there's another part of the summer that never gets celebrated: rain and the storm. This June has rolled in with a healthy dose of each.
I'm not a huge fan of the things mentioned above; the beach and the pool, etc. Don't get me wrong, I take a week off in August to sit at the beach all day, every day, but I prefer the quiet darkness of the rain most every time. I've always been like that. My favorite day of the year is when we turn the clocks back and the drive home from work is dark as hell. Bonus if it pours that day.
There's something about the rain's mystery that heightens my emotions. In the interest of actual fact, I understand that there is no mystery in the rain, but I can pretend.
It's a cover all, quieting the streets and providing a calming rattle on the rooftop. It helps that it makes staying indoors okay to do.
There were storms I can remember from childhood. The hot grip of summer would reach the sponge-point of humidity before a distant rumble could be heard in the distance- some other town, maybe even New Hampshire. I knew what that sound meant, making my way into the basement of our split-level home, which led to the garage. Mom had a couple of beach chairs in there. Opening the garage door, I'd sit in one of those chairs waiting as the air pressure dropped and the breeze picked up and began to run cooler. Before long, the pavement of the driveway would begin to speckle over from gray to black as fat droplets splashed down.
A few doors down from our house, there was always someone calling for their dog or kid to come in from the unfolding storm. And in the backyard of our neighbor's house across the street, I'd watch the deep green of the maple trees glisten over to burned emerald as the leaves were soaked down.
Too sudden was the lightning, white hot and momentarily ripping the sky in half, illuminating the neighborhood like the Sun had fallen to Earth. The violence was as terrifying as awe inspiring, carrying a fear that always drove my imagination into the same place. The darkened green trees behind the neighbor's house would sway in the winds, occasionally revealing black pockets of blank space. Those trees were hiding something. What was the mystery?
As the rain drove harder into the pavement, (I'm embarrassed to admit) I always hoped the T-Rex from Jurassic Park would rip through the tree line and scream, just like the iconic (rainy) scene from the movie.
Maybe there is mystery in the rain? Or maybe I'm just a blogger with an over-active imagination and a hint of reverse seasonal affective disorder?
Summer: 0, Rainy Dinos: 1
Barry