It rained yesterday.

A lot.  I drove home from a meeting on the freeway last night and waves of water splashed over the windshield, just like in winter.  But I didn't mind.  All day yesterday I waited for the rain to come in.  It was hot and muggy in the morning, but there were hopeful clouds to the west, the direction all good storms come from.  I didn't fully believe that it would rain, because its been a horrible hot summer (several days of temps near 106 degrees) and because along with that hot summer has come this weird weather pattern.  The day will start off sunny and cool, with a nice breeze, thus lulling one into thinking its going to be a gorgeous Oregon day.  And then, boom, no warning, all of a sudden it is hot.  Like flippin' hot, uncomfortable hot, sweaty hot.

So that is why I was looking for rain.  Because I was sick of the nice weather. And because I missed sitting in my office with the window open, listening to the rain as I typed away.  I missed falling asleep to the sound of raindrops.  Sometimes the rain makes me melancholy, but in a good way, if you know what I mean.  Yesterday I felt tired and unfocused until the rain actually began, something to do with the actual low pressure system making its way inland.

And once it began raining, I thought, oh good, we're back to normal around here.

I'm a native Oregonian, in case you hadn't guessed.  Which is why, to me, there is nothing better than writing to the sound of rain.  And no better explanation of writing, then this quote from Tom Robbins, another Northwest kindred spirit:  "People ask me who I write for, I tell them I write for the rain."              (Images courtesy of Wikipedia)