Winter Rain

When I entered the building, the storm was climbing across the craggy mountain peaks. Over the next hour, it would slide down the canyon to settle into the valley. As I exited the building, I took my first breath of freshly stirred air. That first breath, taken under cover of the extended roof, held an unexpected surprise. I left the warmth of the building to discover that it had begun to rain. I wasn't surprised that the storm had reached the valley. The surprise was that it was rain and not snow that fell from the sky.

That first breath was pleasant, and full of the unexpected heaviness and scent of a different rain. It wasn't the assaulting sensory experience I expected of a January storm. Maybe it was the smell of wet pavement. Maybe it was the density of the humid air. There wasn't a hint of greening grass in the scent, but somehow, it still evoked thoughts of the refreshing rains of summer.

I have always been a lover of winter, and yet, on that dark, damp evening, I thrilled at the thought of the coming spring. I smiled at the thought of dew on the new blades of grass. I let my mind wander to the pleasant mystery of summer thunderstorms. I found myself smiling as I walked quickly through the rain to my car. And I was still smiling today when yesterday's rain turned to snow.