Nostalgia

If sunshine brings me joy, rain prompts contentment.

Just the smell of rain refracts a vivid image to my mind's eye. 

I see the cozy yellow armchair from my childhood home nestled into the corner of the warm kitchen. An afghan drapes over the chair's arm, the slightly scratchy one made by a great aunt whose love lives on in the warm embrace of the hand-knit wool. The chair slants slightly to face the broad, wall-sized window separated into panels by well-worn wood. A tangle of ferns press against the raindrop-painted glass of the bottom window panes. The rhythmic pattering of the rain sounds against the roof, creating a pleasant lull. My hands itch to clutch my favorite thrifted mug and feel the warmth of my steeping tea seep into my palms. My knees reflexively pull towards my chest as my body curls inwards, toes snuggling into the excess fabric of my thick soft socks. My blanket pulls tightly against my back as my arms stretch to wrap it around my huddled form, cocooning me in cream-colored fabric. This isn't the itchy afghan of my childhood home. Rather, I'm wrapped in a soft, fuzzy throw taken from the end of my college bed. My chair isn't patterned yellow nestled in my warm kitchen. I'm curled into the drab beige folding chair thrifted from goodwill to grace my apartment's balcony. Still, I feel the same inner warmth as I gaze out past the winking lights tangled around the metal railing. Cars rush by, splashing water onto the cracked sidewalks flanking the road. The world is painted in tones of grey accentuated by the drizzling sheets of raindrops that have dripped incessantly from the sky since I rose from bed to cocoon myself on the balcony's edge.

I love the sunshine. The feeling of warmth blooming over the skin of my arms and stinging my eyelids as I lay in the grass, drinking in the light rays. 

The rain brings a different sort of warmth that I can appreciate all the same. Maybe more. It isn't a warmth from my environment. The air around me is frigid. When the wind gusts, goosebumps erupt and hairs ripple along any skin peeking through the pocket of heat my blanket encapsulates. Still, the warmth blooms in my chest and a smile steals across my face. My eyelids slide shut of their own volition and I exhale. 

I can't imagine anything more satisfying than sipping tea in a blanket on my covered balcony as the rain falls around me. 

~~edit~~

Well. Other than perhaps sipping tea from a tin mug under a tent and its rainfly. That might be even more satisfying, centering myself, bundled in thermals amidst the bright green of freshly wet woods and the fresh scent of the rain bathed earth.

I love the rain.