It isn’t the desert, but we still get enough sun to boil the brain case. Exhibit A: our governor (separated at birth from George Hamilton?).

Ah, but I didn’t start this entry intending to talk about the sun, or too-tan, Chain-gang Charlie. I wanted to talk about the rain. A busy day at work followed by a busy evening at home left my stomach (filled with antibiotics) ready for revolt. Salvation was delivered by mother nature: the rain. I love the rain. I miss the rain. I live in the lightning capital of North America**, so I see some rain. Usually it’s not the lingering, relaxing, steady rain. Instead it’s mother nature in full revolt. Not last night. Last night at bed time the relaxing rain fell, and an image slowly coalesced in my mind: the Earth taking a coffee break. Sure, it could have just been a little stress induced psychosis, but I like to think it was just a nice metaphor. I thought of that steady rain gently tapping on the roof, and I thought of Mother Earth sitting back and relaxing a bit. Sort of like sitting out back on a mild spring morning, nursing a cup of good coffee… watching the kids muddy their knees on the dew streaked grass, the squirrels chase each other from tree to tree, and a bee poking around in the citrus blossoms. I imagined her taking a drink because she enjoyed it, not just because she was thirsty.

It wasn’t a bad image to fall asleep to, psychosis or not.

**Many of my fellow Floridians mistakenly believe that this is the “Lightning Capital of the World.” Alas, that distinction is reserved for central Africa (at least, if National Geographic is to be believed).