Rainy days make me long for my hometown. Not that California has that much rain, but it has fog and overcast skies.
I remember the weekends at the barn with my horses. I boarded them at a local stable that had lots of people of all ages. On the really rainy days we couldn’t ride because the ground was slick, and we didn’t want to get wet, or for our horses to get wet and cold. So we played games under the shedrow, the horses got extra grooming, and we cleaned stalls and organized tack room. Inevitably, someone had their FM radio blasting country music.
I look back on those days with great fondness. They were some of my happiest times. And all of these years later, I still keep in touch with my friends from the barn.
Now, on a rainy Sunday, I place my rocking chair in front of the french doors in our master bedroom, and curl up and read a good mystery. Or I rock, and brainstorm.
Wet, rainy days make for great ideas. The sullen mood of the gray day gives way to great murder plots.