I like rainy days, in spring and early summer, but not November. My fondness for rain has nothing to do with flowers or gardens. It’s a deeply held affection from childhood. As a child in rural Virginia, our house sat at the top of a hill. The main street of our tiny town (only five streets total) came up the hill where I lived and ended at a fence that cordoned off a small pasture area. It was paved right up to the fence.
On warm afternoons when the sky darkened and the wind picked up, I would sit at the top of the hill and look out over the town. About a mile or more straight ahead was another hill, one of a long ridge, which, together with my hill, nestled our town in a valley. Sitting there, anticipating the rain, I would watch the clouds grow darker as they moved toward me and see the rain pour down while slowly making its way through town. When the rain got to Back Street (not the real name, but that’s what everyone called it), you could smell the wet cement and hear the rain pounding. At that moment, I would take off running and get to my front door, back and head wet, laughing and enjoying life.
Unless lightning came with the rain, I would sit on the porch, watch the rain, and be delighted and at peace. Absent lightening, I would run into the rain, head tilted up until my mother gently scolded me in, usually laughing. I never stopped playing in the rain. I do it now when I can get away with it. My wife knows about this fascination with rain. When we first met, I insisted that she play in the rain with me (and sometimes she still does).
I took the above shot while looking wistfully out the window during a warm April rain. I struggled while trying to get the autofocus to home in on a few drops. It wouldn’t lock focus, so I switched to manual. Now, having to use both hands, I slipped while leaning in. Trying to keep my balance, I accidentally pressed the shutter button while falling back slightly.
The image was exactly what I wanted.