All my life I have watched it rain. All my life I have stood at the window, my feet in the warmth, my body clothed in my pajamas and stuck my face to the open window and watched it rain. I have stood outside and thrown my head back. I have stood under the gutter and let the rain pour off the roof and then drown me. I’ve been in countless car rides during which the rain paraded on the roof for us. I have stood under shelters and heard it, tasted it, smelled it. My favorite rain was the Panamanian rain, but how can you have a favorite thing like that? I take it back, I really do. I don’t have a favorite rain. I love them all.
All my life I’ve watched it rain. I just stood in my window, leaning against the window pane, face pressed up against the screen and felt it all. I shivered once, then twice. I was standing above it all. I could look out across campus and see the rain fall. It’s my favorite taste, my favorite sound, my favorite smell. It smells like home.
Rain is vital to the survival of civilization. Maybe not as much now as it was in the past, but years ago rain determined more than if you wore your rain boots to dinner. It could determine lives.
All my life I’ve watched it rain. I just watched it rain down on my new home and I thought a great deal of thoughts. I remembered the last time I watched it rain from my bedroom at home. But what is home? What makes something home? There are a lot of thoughts that ran through my head, right now and back then. I thought I would write a beautiful flow of words about the rain and how I’ve watched it forever but this is all that came out. Perhaps the words are stuck inside but perhaps simply something so beautiful as watching it rain can not be forced to exist only on the page.