I like rainy days.  Normal drizzle is the hallmark of the Pacific Northwest.  Why people move here and complain about no sun is hilarious.  Rain brings the green.  Rain also reassures me that I don’t have to be all bright and sunny and positive in a “let’s-go-to-a-big-fair-with-lots-of-people” mood.  I can allow my funky undescribably melancholy seep through and be nourished by the soft dripping wet.

Tears falling lately, in loving tribute to the family dynamic I never really had as a child–or had, but miss, or had and can’t go back.  In any case, it doesn’t exist like that any more and the little girl part of me rushes to see family and sits there watching frowns, or having a brother come in and go out of the room, feeling disconnected, like I dialed up the wrong “Leave it to Beaver” episode and we don’t ever get to the “happily ever after part”.

Gratitude will heal this, recognizing the little family I have, the chosen family of sisters and brothers that do act like they want to be with me.  I am surrounded by them.  And the trees, bushes, grass and bird chirping nagging me to be part of the Divine Family. 

But being a rainy day human, I request those signs of love from Her Majesty–signs of being in the cosmos of kisses, huge galaxy of hugs.  Show me today Lady that I am surrounded by your familial, familiar, family Love.