Yesterday it was cold, relatively of course, and rainy. Most would agree that such weather conditions aren't exactly favorable. In fact, to everyone's great disappointment, the weather caused the early cancelation of our big volleyball tournament, but aside from the forced change in afternoon plans, I really enjoyed the cool rain. Usually when we get a summer rain here, the rain comes down warm, sometimes even hot, and only lasts for brief periods of time. It ends just as quickly as it starts, and the immediate evaporation of the fallen precipitation increases the humidity to a level you wouldn't believe. But yesterday was different; instead of feeling like Mississippi, it felt like being home.
I went for a walk, and I didn't mind the skies doing their best to drench me. I ignored those familiar chills of being wet when the wind picks up, and I paid no mind to the uncomfortable feeling of clinging clothing. Standing outside, feeling cold and wet, something I thought I had come to loathe, had somehow managed to become inseparably linked with feelings of home.
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