How appropriate, I thought, as I woke to hear the gentle sound of rain. Did the earth feel my melancholy and cry along with me? Or am I melancholy because of the rain? It seems odd to love the gray, but I do. It’s non-assuming attitude invites you to rest. Gray invites you to close your eyes in solitude, where there is no guilt in taking time to do nothing. I looked out the window and watched the drops draw circles on the ground; quite the artist rain seems to be. It’s a beautiful masterpiece in motion. Maybe that’s why I love it. And then there is the possibility of the color display when it’s over. I take a minute and think about the fact that the color gray precedes the rainbow. So when the rain comes, there is the hope of that. I sip my coffee and take in the sound of the drops hitting the window. It’s not a loud sound. It’s gentle, like a washing of delicate skin on a wound, almost caressing. Maybe that’s why I love the rain-the feeling of being cleansed, a new breath, a chance to let the cares wash to the ground and seep into places never seen. Maybe it’s God’s miracle. That sounds good and I find myself with a quiet smile on my face. Then I see the drops making music on the window, water streaking down like little rivers in rhythm . There is no resistance, only movement like a well-choreographed dance. I marvel. All this from rain. I take a big deep breath, take my last sip of coffee and pray for strength to let the rain do it’s work in me.