My state and rain. The two are synonymous. I was born and raised here so I love it, though I’m accused of having webbed feet.

Rain here is like a woman’s moods. It’s unpredictable, except for the fact that it’s always there, when you expect it and when you don’t. Sometimes its just drizzles all day, others it comes in a steady downpour. But it always rains in here.

Our weather forecasters could have given up long ago. My great grandpa always laughed at them—rarely did they forecast correctly. The autumn forecast varies from “showers” to “light rain” to “scattered showers.”

But no matter its form, I love the rain—its soft patter is lullaby at night, a soothing background for study—and the staccato beat against a tin roof, or the familiar drip outside my window after the shower has passed, makes me thankful for the quiet after the storm.

I love to stand outside and feel the raindrops sprinkling my hair, moistening my sweater. And the smell after the first rain of the season—what a delightfully refreshing scent to a native of my state! The air is cleared but the musty smell of soaked leaves and grass remains.

Yes, the first rain of the season is here in all its gentle familiarity. So I’ll lay back and, as the old song says, “listen to the rhythm of the falling rain” while I thank God for my grand state and rain.