Wild Nights Are My Glory

"Wild nights are my glory."

I remember reading that line in Madeline L'Engle's A Wrinkle in Time when I was about eleven.  Maybe that was the line, maybe it wasn't.  Maybe it was the right book, maybe it wasn't.  There were these witches or something named Mrs. Who, Mrs. Which and Mrs. Whatzit.  I think Mrs. Which said it.  Anyway, it doesn't matter.  The line always stuck with me, the way good sentences do.

I think the rain the other day seriously ended my slump.  I'm not necessarily affected by heat and humidity the way some of my Midwestern brothers and sisters are.  I don't seem to wilt as quickly in an unairconditioned room.  I much prefer hot to cold.  However, I need variety in weather. 

At the moment, it looks like a nice storm is brewing. The air coming through the windows is cool, and the sky is glowing from the sun hidden behind all those clouds.  It's going to pour.

My aunt J. moved to California when she was in her twenties.  She grew up in Iowa, like I did.  I remember her telling me the same summer I read that book that she was depressed when she first moved west because there was never any weather.  The days were always the same, without release.  I get headaches sometimes when the rain is coming, but then it comes, and somehow it's like my body chemistry rebalances.  Like the storm itself can release my tension.