It's been raining for a week here in generally sunny southern Alberta. We're all getting cranky from too little sun and no outdoor time. When I was a kid, like most kids, I was afraid of thunder, but my mom loved a good thunderstorm, and we would sit on our front porch and watch the storms roll in across the Great Salt Lake, and she would tell us that thunder was a giant rolling potatoes down the mountain. I was still afraid, but not as much. She taught me to see the beauty in all parts of nature.
My house here in Lethbridge has its own issues with rain. We have a deceptive and particularly stubborn leak somewhere by an air vent on our roof. We have tried numerous times to fix it. We always think we have until the next big rainstorm, when the leak comes back, sometimes very sneakily and sometimes with great abandon. This week so far it has leaked on the days with little rain and not leaked at all on some days with vast amounts of rain. It must have a sense of humor.
If I could be indoors quilting during a week of rain, I might not mind it so much, but it hasn't been a quilty week at all, and I'm feeling the need for some "sunshine on my shoulders", to quote John Denver. So consider this an invitation, sun. Wherever you have gone to, come back. We miss you.
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