They had forecast rain for Sunday and it showed up in the afternoon. That鈥檚 OK, I needed some down time. Football is over, no hockey game, just some time to regenerate and recharge. For me, that鈥檚 time to read or write.

I like being able to sit down with a pen and paper, create a path and go hide somewhere. In the Sounds of Silence, Paul Simon says 鈥淚 have my books and my poetry to protect me.鈥� What a warm, safe place to go on a rainy day.

I remember those days as a boy when the summer rain came on a weekend and the games were cancelled, the picnic called off, and the outside chores were let slide. We were never bored, we were told to 鈥渇ind something to do,鈥� and we always did.

Comic books or model cars were dragged out or maybe you shared the afternoon with dolls or books. Dads took a nap, the hay and the garden would keep. Moms mended or cleaned and everyone enjoyed the quiet.

I took a coffee out onto the deck and listened to how quiet it was. No blowers or drills or saws or voices. No barking dogs or revving engines. Nature had given everyone the day off and we don鈥檛 do that often enough. When your little light starts flashing it means you have to be put in the charger for a day.

I wrote down some words on such a day and my good friend Dave Mercer put them to music. It was just something we had saved for a rainy day to do on a rainy day. At least that鈥檚 what McGregor says.

Fraser Valley Rain

Driving home, there鈥檚 no hurry

There鈥檚 no place I have to be;

Sunday music on the radio,

Clouds as far as I can see;

The memories come in rain drops,

To take me back again,

To a young boy on a summer day

In the Fraser Valley rain.

She鈥檒l be reading on the couch,

While her day slows to a crawl;

Her laundry dripping on the line

Don鈥檛 bother her at all;

It might be one day out of thousands

That is heading down the drain

But listen to the quiet that comes

With the Fraser Valley rain

I pull over to the shoulder

And hear the raindrops daring me

To get out, go running down the lane;

They want me to close my eyes,

Turn my face up to the skies

To taste those memories flowing

From the Fraser Valley rain.

Looking out the window

At the puddles on the street;

When you can see there鈥檚 no more drops

You know the air will smell so sweet;

Some will say the day was ruined,

But you won鈥檛 find anyone to blame

You owe this stolen summer Sunday

To the Fraser Valley rain.