Today was one of those weather days the South does best.

It brooded, it teased, it raged and relented and raged and relented some more for good measure.

My husband was working from his office upstairs and I was puttering downstairs on projects of my own. In reality we spent the majority of the day wandering from window to window reporting back and forth to each other.

“Can you hear it bouncing off the porch?” I called up.

“Can you see it rising by the gate?” he shouted down.

“Look at the moss waving in the wind” I tried to one up him.

“Listen to it staring up again” he countered, claps of thunder silencing my rebuttal, declaring him the winner of our little game.

Over dinner my husband remarked that desert living has broken us to the point where we are now entertained by a simple rainstorm. He chuckled over how easily amused we have become.

And I say:

“May I always be easily amused.”

“May I always be so easily impressed.”

“May I always rush from window to window, face pressed to the glass, breath turned to fog on the cool surface as I stand on tiptoes and search for the best angle.”

“May I always wander from room to room, turning out the lights to make it easier to hear, as I decipher the acoustics of water falling from the sky in each one.”

“May the sound of the sky opening up always fill me with wonder. Always cause my heart to catch in my throat. Always cause the baby hairs on the nape of my neck and forearms to stand on end in anticipation of what is to come.”

“May I always be reminded to pay reverence to the calmness and the danger and be equally in awe of both.”

“May I never tire of the muffled sound of rain filtering through Magnolia leaves. May I always listen to the story it tells.”

“May I never grow so complacent that I fail to notice a darkening sky. So jaded that I no longer take notice of a simple rain storm.”

“May rain always have the power to draw me to it.”

“May I always be so easily amused.”

“May I always be so easily impressed.”