It's officially monsoon season at my house. I say my house, because the north end of town has been getting monsoon rain for a couple of weeks now. I've been jealously watching the black clouds pass over my house and dump all of their rain on Aimee. Rain Here! I tell them. But no, they circle over with empty promises and give their blessings to someone else. So I was so elated today when it began to pour. At my house, on my garden, on my kid, on my roof. An especial yay for the garden. I love the rain pouring so thickly that you're instantly soaked the minute you step out. (I like to stay dry, but you're a different story.) I love the smell of wet sage and red sandstone dirt after a storm, and the smell of water during. I love to see the raindrops sheeting down and splashing on the pavement. And how nature seems so clean and fresh and new after a good hard shower. I also love the "curl up with a book and mug o' hot something" feeling. Here are a few pictures of the rain, and my son Jack. We live in a desert, so my husband says why have rain gear? So Jack is wearing his dad's most rain repellant coat (all of the others are winter coats which are horrible for rain). And since I don't have rain hats, in one photo he's wearing a, yes, it's a grocery bag tied under his chin. Which didn't work. So in the other he's wearing a garden cloche (hee hee!) tied on with newspaper bags because I didn't want to go into my room to get rubber bands, thus waking up Sweet Evie. So there you have it. In Southern California and in the desert, it never rains. It pours. And I love every minute.
