I love the heavy way it rains in South Louisiana. The air gets so thick and wet that it collapses into a thunderstorm, but the drops don’t land with the exhausted plop common to inland thunderstorms. In any season, the rain descends from the sky insistently. It’s overbearing at times. It demands attention; defy it dry and you’ll be soaking wet in ten seconds, easy. In a neighborhood of metal roofs, the roar can seem deafening, but then it will crescendo as water accumulates on the street like snow. There’s always water everywhere anyway. In any season it makes me thankful for shelter, three feet off the ground, where I’m damp, but in a broader sense, dry. Coastal swamp rain.