Rain pours down my armpit as I reach up from the porch to toss out the leaves causing the overflowing gutter to drench everything that should be dry. Thunder sends a shiver up my back and I am in blissful enjoyment of the richness of damp air and lightning bolts painting the sky like a rock and roll album cover. The pumpkins should be tossed, the cookies inside are cool enough to eat, but I want more rain and night air. Why doesn’t matter. It’s a simple pleasure I’ve been waiting on for close to three months of dry Fall weather here in the Ozarks. The elm trees toss and bow while the gutters tap and rattle through a November rain shower. The neighbors move about inside their backlit window frames and I am in transcendent reverie.

Knowing what fulfills you is imperative. No one else can connect you to the moments where your mind buzzes with enjoyment. Watching rain and driving through rural landscapes are two of my deepest connections to who God made me to be.

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.