Living in a small coastal community in the Pacific Northwest is as close to geographic and climatic perfection as ever I could imagine. Weather here suits me, as I am a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days, or as those of us who share this distinction are called and otherwise known: a Pluviophile.
Our particular area receives just shy of 100 inches of rain a year. For a rainy day person, the frequent shower is bliss. But, as the winter storm season approaches, life here on the coast gets a lot more dramatic. The storms are spectacular; violent, threatening, sometimes frightening, and definitely spectacular.
They come, they rage, and they go. These atmospheric juggernauts show no mercy to anyone or anything; moving with unimaginable force, they are unstoppable, until they are done.
And then the quiet descends. Stock is taken of any damage incurred, repairs are made, weaknesses shorn up, supplies replenished, and courage stoked for the next one. And there always is a next one.
So, too, we Boomers have not come this far without having experienced the storm parallel in our journeys and lives. The storms have come, raged, and left; but, we survived. We actually more than survived; we stood face in the wind and rain, rooted in our determination to honor and complete that which we started, or refused to yield to that which was thrust upon us against our will. There were times all we could manage was just to hang on, and we did.
Each storm subsided, as it always does, and we then stood up, cleaned up, and moved on; but, not without the knowledge that we did indeed meet it head on, and regardless the outcome, were not destroyed by it.
Tonight my little corner of the world has a severe storm warning posted, and I rather appreciate the courtesy afforded us by this alert. I am prepared, slightly exhilarated, and definitely watchful. Beyond that, I know whatever comes will pass, and I am assured the experience in the midst and afterward is guaranteed to be striking, and even challenging. I think we Boomers are hard wired to believe in, and see different circumstances as springboards filled with possibility.
So, let’s batten down those hatches inside and out; there’s a storm a-comin’, and we are not afraid.
Galactic Junction 
Oh, a pluviophile! What a distinctly rich word. I love adding to the vocabulary suitcase. I realize this post is painted for Boomers, but even as one who comes distinctly after that generation I believe that really this applies to all humanity.
I love the way you transition from the weathering of a weather storm to a storm of life. Most life storms do not offer us the same courtesy of advance warning but I can distinctly envision the same haggardness of one’s soul after a particularly rough storm of life that you see in a landscape that has endured the same.
Thanks for the wonderfully written prose. It was the perfect thought provoking read that I needed with my cup of coffee. Truly a perfect way to begin a stormy morning by connecting with a fellow pluviophile.
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