Dear Mother Nature,
Look, you and I, we usually get along, right? I mean, you water my mom’s petunias, I get to dance around while you drizzle down every now and then. Fun. But lately, you’ve been taking over my whole life. This letter comes to you from a small house, stuck under your wet and gloomy sky, devoid of the sunny sparkle that I so miss.
I’ve studied the water cycle, I understand the needs of our parched earth and the thirsty trees. BUT COME ON. Every. SINGLE. time I try to step out, you’re there, ready and waiting to drench me head to toe. Can’t a guy catch a break? It’s gotten to the point where my sneakers, the cool ones with the neon stripes, are sat by the door collecting dust. And my frisbee… well, let’s just say the mushrooms growing out of it are not edible.
Can you feel how heavy the air is? All you gotta do is peek out the window and see the gloom you’ve put over everything. The squirrels don’t scamper about anymore, my neighbor’s dog just sits on the porch wearing a terribly funny raincoat, and even the crows look downright miserable.
I’m stuck here, with this crazy itch to run and jump and play tag. The at-home workouts aren’t cutting it, and trust me, jogging around my living room is not quite the same as sprinting across the soccer field, chasing the ball. Especially after I knocked over some of my mom’s old vases. I really hope she doesn’t look for it behind the dogbed.
You’ve got power, I know it. I’ve seen you knock down umbrellas and float boats. But what about us, the ones who can’t always float with you? We’re floundering, waiting on you, Rain. We’re desperate for a break, even a tiny one, enough to step outside without being blinded by your drumming drops.
If you promise to cut us some slack, I promise to learn your favorite rain dance.
Just saying, I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this. Remember Johnny from next door? I bet he’s twiddling his thumbs right now, staring wistfully at his untouchable skateboard. Or Mrs. Jones across the street — wasn’t she talking about that backyard barbecue she wanted to host?
Think about it, Rain. The orchestral chorus of laughter, the cloudless sky acting as our grand stage, the lush green yards bursting with running feet and flying balls. That’s what a sunny day looks like, and oh boy, do I miss it!
So, I’m asking. I am asking you to take a break. Let your brother, Sun, have a turn at ruling the sky. We promise to make the most of it.
Rain, rain, go away. Come back another day, will ya?
Always wet,
Saturated Sam
