I enjoy rain when it dances on the flowers on a hot summer afternoon invigorating the day and making everything smell fresh and clean.  That is what rain is supposed to do.  I believe it is found in section three, paragraph 17 of the rain contract.  But lately, I think Madame Rain has outdone herself and I wish she would relax and take a well deserved vacation.  I recommend the Sahara desert.

I was looking out the window watching the rain come down like a flood when the Gracious Mistress of the Parsonage came in and saw me.

“What are you doing?” she asked.  “Trying to stare the rain away?” “If only I could,” I sighed.  I had gawked at the rain so much my eyes were beginning to flood.  A person can only take so much rain before his soul begins to feel soggy and I had reached that place.  I even sloshed when I walked.  I hate sloshing.

I do not mind when raindrops keep falling on my head, it is when it floods my soul that I must draw the line.  Of course, it is too wet to draw a line in the sand right now, so I will make a mental note to do that later.