i love the rain the most...when it stops

I swear you could wring out our maple tree and fill a bucket with the excess water. The rain came, with all of its grayness - unusual amounts of fat and heavy droplets falling steadily for hours; plip, plop, plip, they sang on window panes and roof tops, like a lullaby. It's too early, I know, but I am sorting through the sweaters, the fuzzy jammies and woolen tights because it's cool today. In this one area, I'm far from melancholy. "Don't let the door hit you on the way out!" I yell to summer each September, then grumble bitterly when she overstays her welcome. Bring on the early darkness and the musty smell of leaves falling brown and gold and red on cracking sidewalks. Cover me with a blanket, pour some cider in my mug, slow me down, reign me in, let me hibernate awhile before the frigidness of winter has me crying for the spring. I need a change.