One afternoon a coastal front blew in. Rain pattered on the rooftop, wind rustled palm fronds, and skies turned steely gray. I stayed inside my RV, watching droplets roll down windows, the world damp and hushed.
I rummaged through my portable kitchen and whipped up seafood chowder — shrimp, oysters, corn, bacon, potatoes, cream — simmering gently. The aroma filled the RV. I curled up with a book near the window, listening to rain and distant thunder, occasionally glancing outdoors as wind gusted.
Later, gathering in the clubhouse, park staff hosted card games and storytelling. I shared my chowder, others brought chili, cornbread, and we passed bowls around. We laughed about past storms, compared travel tales, and made plans to ride out the next day in comfort — because in a place like The Palms, even rainy days feel warm.