Growing up as a child in Newfoundland, having to contend with more than your share of rainy days is part of the lot which Newfoundlanders have to accept for living on a wild and rugged island. When the rain comes in, it come on little cat’s feet, hangs around for a day or so then as silently it comes in, it slinks away with nary a sound.

In the time I have spent here in the United States, I have come to appreciate those rainy days. This is because such days are far too rare here. Like an uncle at a wedding party who had too much to drink, rainstorms comes in thundering and noisy scattering all before it and before you know it, the sun comes out again and you wonder what was all that? They are dark and brooding affairs given to too much violence and never soothing.

Soft rainy days are magical. The lightness of each drop on the surface are like little drumbeats. It reassures you, it comforts you and if you go outside, it is almost says to you “Excuse me for making you wet” and you do not really mind it for it is just doing its job with as little fuss as possible. And when it has passed, it leaves a little gift for you as you breathe in all of the freshness it gives. The air is lighter and the flowers and trees give up their scent.

I love soft rainy days like those of my youth.