Wet Pavement

Wet pavement. It's a sight too often absent in Provo, Utah. I grew up in Washington--the West-Coast Washington--where it rains, and rains, and rains. A day of no rain is considered excellent; a day of no clouds is a miracle, even during the summertime. I used to think I hated it--all that rain; my hair never stayed straight, and the lower third of my pant legs were always soaking wet, along with my socks. I was glad to move to Utah, where the rain was scarce and the sunshine blinding, even during the wintertime. During the first weeks, I was mesmerized by the blue sky, a perfect sheet of blue glass uninterrupted by the greyness of clouds. It was a miracle, all this sunshine. But soon it seemed a little too much. The sight of wet pavement--an unnatural phenomenon caused by the precise watering of the BYU sprinkler system--made me homesick for grey skies and rainy days. The sunshine was too bright, the sky too bare without clouds to hide its stark blueness above the mountains. I began wishing for a rainy day, a day of puddles, mud and real wet pavement.

It came. Dark rainclouds began rolling in, obscuring the too-blue skies. Temperatures dropped and rain began mercilessly pounding the unprepared Utah soil. I was dancing. I spent an hour in the rain--an hour in Washington. I danced past my home, my school, my childhood haunts. I waved to neighbors, the tall evergreen trees, and to the friends I was sad to leave behind. A silly smile stuck on my face, I was a rainchild again, and I loved it--ruined hair, damp denim and all. So for all of you that hated the recent rainstorms--blame me. I was homesick and wished for rain.