I woke up several nights ago to the sound of rain falling.  I lay in bed, just listening as the parched land soaked up all the glorious water.  I felt some wild thing in me that had been unleashed in the 100+ degree heat of just a few days before quiet down and relax. Rain.  A sweet surprise in the middle of July.  It was as if the land opened up its arms and welcomed it all.

In Mānoa Valley, where I grew up, we frequently had showers at night, and I would lie in bed then, listening to the rain drumming its melody on the ‘ape leaves outside my window.  I made myself stay awake just to listen, finally falling asleep to the rain’s lullaby.

That’s what rain is to me.  A lullaby.  And I especially welcome it in the middle of a hot dry spell that presses its way into my bones, laying me flat.  We don’t have air conditioning in this hale [house], and I really suffer in the heat.

The other day I was with some friends.  The temperature was only 64 degrees, and they were hot, sweaty and uncomfortable.  Someone said the humidity was 90% and that she would sweat at the slightest exertion.  And there I was, reveling in it.  It didn’t seem the least bit muggy to me; it just felt wonderful after all the hot, dry days we’d experienced just the week before.

If the rain is a lullaby to me, temperatures of over about 90 degrees, even with low humidity, are like screaming heavy metal, jarring and assaulting.  I love sunny days, but I like them to be warm and balmy, inviting me to the outdoors and helping my veggies and flowers to grow.

Nolemana thinks I’m crazy (he could be right), but I love to drive in the rain.  The harder it rains, the better I like it.  Hard, driving rain, pounding rain calls to me to get into the car and go anywhere, just to be able to drive in it.  I have been known to chase cloudbursts in order to do just that.

Maybe I really am crazy after all. 

Rain.  I love it!

Ka ua hinahina…he mele nani ia‘u i ka pō.

[The gray rain… a lovely song to me in the night.]