I have fond memories as a little girl of playing in puddles in our gravel driveway after hard summer thunderstorms. My sister and I would wait anxiously, asking our mom every few minutes if the lightning had let up enough to go out yet. It rained that kind of hard yesterday, and you and I went out to play in a puddle on the front sidewalk. You were disappointed to be told—repeatedly—that the leaves and twigs we not for eating. You were wet and filthy and as happy as could be.
I was a little less soaked but pretty happy too.
