It's been perpetually raining here which for me is marvelous. I've always
loved the satisfaction of tromping through puddles and the unique sound of
shaking the rain off an umbrella. Nothing in the world creates the atmosphere
that rain creates. The rain is refreshing, laxidazical, sparkling on wintery oak
branches. Even the dreariness of it is often poetic and one can easily find
comfort in a cozy fire and a beautiful piece of literature.
When I told my two year old niece that I loved her wellingtons, she looked
down at her polka dotted wellies and said whimsically, "No, they're rain boots."
And as much as I love the word, "wellington," I have to concurr with little
Ruby Grace. Wellingtons may be regal, but rain boots are magical.