Summer rain. A child of arid Southern California, I love summer rains. Most summers slip by with nary a drop. But every once in a while, we get magic. The air stays warm, but not too warm, and big fat drops plop to the ground. The air smells of warm, damp pavement and where I now live, the dusty herb smell of the coastal sage scrub.
One of my early childhood memories is of summer rain. Visiting my grandparents house and being told it was alright to go out and play in the rain. Barefooted and in my little summer dress, I delighted in staying out in the rain. No admonishments to stay dry, or stay out of the puddles; no cries of "you'll catch a cold." Just the wonder of feeling the cool rain drops and the warm air, smelling the damp pavement and the wet leaves in the avocado grove across the road.
Today, just a few big fat drops hit the ground, not even enough to make the pavement shine. Enough though, to recall a childhood memory and to feel that wonder again.