It’s an unmistakable sound, a cross between sticks clattering together and overly excited feet flapping against concrete, and I rarely get to enjoy it. Enjoy it I do, though. For it brings with it memories of warm summer nights huddled beneath the overhang of the open garage, lightning bursting in the distance, rollerblading against my better judgement on slippery sidewalks nestled between groves on my college campus, and the feeling of cold sand between my toes as I played volleyball with the capturer of my heart, she who would be Queen.
I could sit for hours on end and just listen to the rain, and I have done exactly that when offered the chance. I hear the first smattering and clattering of drops and my heart sours while the best of my memories flood my thoughts. I close my eyes and see the flashes of blinding light bouncing off the slick desert floor, with the dark looming backdrop of the mountains. My cheeks flush from the rush of wind and stinging droplets crashing against my face as I defy logic and sanity to zip along the debris ridden walkways. My lips smile and release a laugh as I dive for a wayward ball, wet clumps of beach sand kicking up and tangling with my hands, my legs, my hair. Honestly, who plays volleyball in the rain?
Honestly, who doesn’t play volleyball in the rain? Who doesn’t go rollerblading or running or walking in a tempest? Who doesn’t sit and watch thunderstorms march slowly across the horizon? Who doesn’t splash in puddles? Who doesn’t wake with a smile in the middle of the night as drops start pinging against their windows? Who doesn’t look at the forecast every week hoping to see that this is the week, this one right here, where we are finally going to get some weather to be excited about? Who doesn’t love rain? Who?
Ah, rain. Sweet, cooling, wonderful restorative mana from the heavens, how I love your song. You are a symphony of sounds, a chorus of voices, a speaker of tongues. You play and my heart and soul listen. In Mr. Brown Can Moo, Dr. Seuss corrals the sounds as “dibble dibble dop, dibble dibble dop dop dop,” and who am I to argue with him.