I wish you could be with me on my front porch right now.
The light is dim because the rain falls in a steady whoosh. Splatter, splatter, split, splat. Then the drops hit the metal awning, bum, bum, bum.
The sweetest breeze blows across the porch. The air feels like a peppermint patty tastes.
The birds still squawk, undeterred by the rain.
I have a cup of English Breakfast tea that I sip as I watch the rain run across the dark pavement below.
Sometimes the breeze blows a mist of rain across my shoulders, making me shiver with delight.
In the distance I hear the grumble of thunder, like someone in a house next door complaining. An occassional burst of lightning brightens the sky, like the flash on my camera.
The best part about sitting on my front porch is that the rain gave me an excuse not to run this morning. My aching and bruised legs propped on the wicker chair in front of me, my tweaking knees and twinging lower back all are thankful for this rainstorm.
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