Sometimes you can smell the rain coming. And it always takes me back to
sleeping in the upstairs bedroom at my grandparent’s
farmhouse. It made
a glorious
sound on the tin roof, almost like a symphony. I’d quickly
scrambleinto bed making “angel in the snow” motions to warm it all
up ,and then I’d cuddle and scrunch down under the covers, leaving
just enough of my nose poking out to breathe the cool ,clean
,rain-freshened air. The chill in the air wasn’t so noticeable under a
mountain of cozy quilts and blankets. A warm, comfortable bed with the
rain pounding overhead is hard to leave behind.
To this day, I love rainstorm, how they perfume the air, the sound they make on the roofs, and
sleeping under homemade quilts.