From my couch, I can see the dreary skies empty their rain drops on the ground below. I can hear it's gentle tapping on the roof above me. The cold makes our apartment chilly.
But I'm ok with the rain.
Because while walking to work this morning, I saw the mountains. And the air smelled moist with the promise of a green summer. The mountains are greener than they've been in months. The Y is practically begging to be climbed. I've always thought that rain in the winter is cold and dreary. But a spring rain is different. It smells of growth; of dirt, and grass, and wet cement.
It made me think of the beach. Not the sunny warm beaches of Southern California. But the misty, fog enshrouded beaches of Northern California. My beaches. The ones I grew up with. I didn't go to the beach very often. But when I did, it was usually cold. And always windy. But that doesn't matter with the beaches in Northern California. I wouldn't go there to swim. I would go to feel the sand between my toes, cold though it may have been. I would go to see the place where the sea met the sky; where the air tastes fresh, like salt. I would go to gingerly dip my toes in the water.
I love my mountains here, but it's so hard to be land locked. Good thing I'll be taking a trip home in t-minus 9 days.
Also, this song is great. I've listened to it multiple times today.