It took a while.

I miss the rain. I miss the sky-darkening, roof clattering rain storms that would roll in off the ocean so quickly that I could watch the ripples on the water racing towards me.

I miss the way the rain would fall so heavy on the sheet metal roof that it would drown out all possible conversation. All that was left to do was listen to the sound of the storm and wait for it to pass.

I even miss the times I would get caught in a storm while on my bike. The warm raindrops would get whipped by the gusts so hard that they would sting my arms and legs. Small muddy rivers would form on the road, run-off from the mountain. I would have to pay extra attention to the coconuts that came thudding down. As miserable as I would be later in the day sitting damp at my desk, at least during the rain I was guaranteed a few minutes of completely dog-free bicycling.

I miss the moments after the rain too. Not the inevitable humidity or the way steam would rise from the street the moment the sun came out, but the aftermath of the storm. The palm leaves and coconuts that crashed down. I miss seeing the banana trees on the ground that finally gave way to the combination of heavy fruit and high winds.

I miss the rain during church. The clatter on the roof would drown out the mindless droning of the Pastor. If I happened to be sitting near the windows, I would get a light sprinkling on my arms when the wind changed direction. It was always such a nice relief from the stifling heat, my shirt stuck to my back with sweat.

I miss swimming in the ocean next to the causeway when the rain would come in. The fat drops would splash against the water so hard it would get in my eyes. We’d have to hide under the concrete of the pier, shivering in the cold wind and warm water. There was no point in trying to get out before the storm ended, it’s not like we could get any wetter. I would just have to stand there, chest deep in the warm salty water, hoping that my backpack was still waterproof enough to keep my CD player dry.