It has rained A LOT in Charleston this summer. In fact, I think the only week without rain was in June, fortunately when our son was at Scout camp, living in a canvas tent by the marsh for six nights. Come to think of it, it was downright reasonable that week, dry, sunny, and warm (read: not hot or humid, aka paradise). Of course, that’s when we headed into the mountains, where it was warmer and more humid. Otherwise, Mother Nature unleashes her wrath upon us. Every day. Simply peruse the posts by @chswx and you’ll get my drift.

I like rain. I recall fondly as a child visiting places, along the equator, like Hong Kong, where each afternoon one would retreat back to the hotel as the heavens emptied onto the bustling streets, as if to provide a wash and rinse cycle in preparation for the nightfall and all of the life it would bring.

Weather is habit-forming. Without thinking, I now bring my trusty raincoat everywhere I go, in anticipation. When I glance out of the window, I expect to see a line of threatening clouds getting ready to get busy. The low rumbling of thunder no longer perks my ears. Like in the tropics.