The Gift of a Rainy Sunday

I woke up this morning to a steady, soaking rain hitting the fire escape outside my bedroom window. Raising the blinds, I took in the sight of the leaves on a row of very green trees dancing up and down to the beat of the downpour and gave up a silent "Thank you, Lord!"

A rainy Sunday cuts your options. Or. Increases your options. Depends on your outlook. A rainy Sunday gives you permission to slow down, stay inside. Read. Nap. Fold clothes. Call a friend. A rainy Sunday gives you permission to throw on a slicker and rubber boots and take a walk. Visit a museum. Take in a play. Get a new perspective on the street, a park, a river, in the pouring rain.

I love rain. Yes, it can be a pain on a Monday morning getting to work, or if you're going to a picnic or an outdoor wedding. But rain clears the air. It washes away the dust from the trees, the sidewalks, the window ledges. Green grass get greener. Black pavement gets blacker. Yellow/orange taxis get shiny-brighter orangier. I find a delightful peace in that.

So I give thanks for this rainy Sunday. It's a gift of time. A gift of color. A gift of renewal.