It’s raining here. It’s been raining here for days. If it’s not raining then it’s starting to rain, or has just stopped, but will start again real soon. So soon, that the water will still be dripping off the trees from the last downpour when the next one starts. The forecast says more to come.
I love it. When it’s forty degrees on the front porch and you can hear water rushing down the gutters and the wet hiss of cars passing in the road outside. Sometimes I’ll go and sit out there and watch it, or head across the street to collect the mail just to be out in it. Or better yet go for a run. Run through dank, soggy woodland until my feet are soaked and water runs down my neck.
Why is it so great when it rains? Because it’s snowing in the mountains. The peaks are getting plastered with snow. The dry, dusty Cascades of late summer have once more become a winter playground for the hardy and foolhardy. A whole host of possibilities just waiting the right moment.
When it’s raining… Time to train, plot, plan scheme and train some more for those magic few days when the conditions and weather are just right. When you blag time off work and head for the hills. To expend a day’s hard labor skiing, hiking and thrashing your way to the base of something in the hopes that it can be climbed in winter and that conditions are right.
Half the time your romance ends in a bitter defeat. You fail, retreat, and crawl back to the porch to watch the rain and think about what you learnt. In failure you always learn. Learn what works and what doesn’t, where you’re weak and where you’re strong. Who is committed and who just wants to play.
When it’s raining… you’re also free. You’re off the hook. The weather is bad, nothing to be done except train and plot… and dream. Dream of those moments to come.