An old poem I found.

[novium]

 

These days are precious to me
This gray and wet and cold
Laughing and finding shelter under trees
The wonderful damp, sticky feeling of cloth against my skin
As the lights dim
And the movie begins

Or huddled somewhere hushed
Still and empty
Leaning in front of a heater
The warm air kissing my cheeks
Playing with my hair
As music fills the air
And I am somewhere else,
in worlds bound in paper

Or driving along some stretch of road
The hiss of wet tires on wet asphalt
The light artillery of rain against the windshield
The rhythmic squeak-swish of the windshield wipers
The warmth of the car
The feel of damp hair drying
This exciting notion of going somewhere
A private sanctuary in the middle of a storm

The beautiful moments of pouring rain