The rain in Spain may fall mainly on the plain, but in Texas it just bitch slaps you wherever you may be. Texan rain resembles the tempests you see in movies about Seattle: sheet after sheet of pounding, morbidly obese raindrops, with thunder and lightning for added drama.
Any Seattleite will tell you we rarely get Hollywood style deluges in the Pacific Northwest. I know a lot of folks there who don’t even own an umbrella. I like walking in Seattle style rain. There is a certain velvety mist I especially enjoy, like a constant whisper throughout the day; it feels light and nearly tickly. You can walk from your apartment to the coffeehouse in such a mist and your skin feels great . In Texas, on the other hand, I’ve gotten drenched after dashing 15 feet from the car to the front door.
There’s nothing angry or demanding about Seattle rain. If anything, it’s a bit of an enabler. Maybe that’s why we need to drink so much espresso up there to keep ourselves on task.
Seattle rain makes you feel perfectly justified to curl up with a book and a big mug of tea. ‘It’s raining,’ you think as you fold your to-do list in half (it makes a better bookmark that way.) ‘I’ll be productive tomorrow when that judgmental sun is out to boss me around.’