Go outside. Get wet. That’s the new way of life it seems here in New Hampshire. With the ongoing deluge apparently unwilling to end, NHPR’s Sean Hurley decided to write a little letter to the rain.
Dear Rain!
Hello! It’s me. How are you? Well, I gather.
I wanted to apologize for my remarks the other day. Which were insensitive. And loud. And not very favorable as far as you. But I was upset. And wet. Thoroughly to the bone, both.
Which doesn’t excuse anything. I certainly wouldn’t like it if someone came into my office and yelled at me for doing my work so well. But that is what I did. You are the rain and you were simply falling. Excellently.
As you well know, I am not an umbrella man. No yellow rain slicker or big rubber boots for me. This isn’t a fashion choice – I just always believe I can get away with it. You have proven me wrong.
I do like the look of a black umbrella, I should say – dozens of them, floating down the street like serious balloons. And I like how yellow rain slickers turn everyone into children.
But I guess I’m wondering if everything is ok up there? Maybe, I don’t know, you’ve decided not to come another day, per the injunction? Just opted to move in with us, pell-mell and into perpetuity with the infinite luggage of your neat little tear-drop satchels…
Let me just say here - I don’t blame you. Possibly the clouds are up to something…in their supervisory way. Or it could even be the old golden One – melting up rivers and lakes in parts unknown and thinking it wise to redistribute said rivers and lakes to our region. I should remind you – we have such features and they are fine.
There are those among us who no longer believe in the color blue. Others who’ve forgotten that thing we used to call the sun.
And so I’d ask you – kindly and formally this time via this letter – and in my quasi-legal capacity as a very damp person – to cease and desist by means of the customary, sing songy terms of our longstanding agreement.
Rain rain, go away. Come again…another day.
Sincerely yours,
Sean Hurley, Esquire
For the Offices of Waterlogged, Damp and Sodden
P.S.: Snow
