Unusual for May, it rained here the other day. I was writing on the couch and heard the sudden sounds of tiny drops drumming on the roof. Remembering my laundry outside, I bolted up to hastily retrieve it. Once safely inside, I draped several blankets over chairs in my living room in an attempt to undo the 'moisturizing' they’d been subjected to. My children, woken by the sound of the back doors being flung open and subsequent trampling of my feet, came out and immediately saw the ‘tents’ I’d made all over the room.

Settling back on the couch I watched them play; they ducked in and out of the blankets like weasels from their boroughs. The laughter of children in my ears, I began to write again but found the current chapter to be dull and bleak all of the sudden. The innocent merriment of my children affected even my characters; soon they, too, were happy and joyous where once they had been so mired in self-pity and dire circumstances.

The rain continued to drum on the roof, not dulling the mood but stirring it onward; like a perpetual engine the slightly muffled sounds above wound up the scene in my mind to a happier situation than was thought of before, ending the chapter far better than the one I had planned out. The garage door opened and in walked The Editor, back from work with a familiar look of relief. Often this expression dresses his face when he comes home; it never gets old.

As he took off his shoes I read him the new setting and chapter. He liked it very well, saying it felt more uplifting than the old. I agreed and told him that my inspiration was his children, thereby his fault via proxy... and the rain. He smiled and got in one of the tents, too. The children shrieked happily and made room for ‘daddy’.

Not always does the rain bring joy;

Not always does the rain inspire;

Oft it brings flooding, sorrow and pains…

Yet, here and now, there is gladness when it rains.