It is raining on our June wedding; we picked June so we could stand barefoot on the lawn and say our vows. We do it anyway, as planned, with mud squishing between our toes and the pastor balancing a bible in one hand and an umbrella in the other.
It is raining when we first see the house, covered with fallen leaves. The covered porch is dry and inviting, so we run across the muddy lawn, laughing joyously.
And it is raining when we have sex on our porch for the first time, pounding rain as visceral as we are.