Of Rain and Death
I’ve always been the type of girl that finds inspiration and serenity in a good rain storm. Ever since I was a little girl, I would seize every opportunity to sit and watch it fall for hours, my mind creating mini-movies of all the different paths I could choose in my life. A rock star perhaps? I did love music on a soul level. A veterinarian so I could save little animal lives? Possibly. A photographer or painter? Maybe, I could help others see the beauty in what I was seeing. Sometimes, I would race out the back door of my family’s little blue house in my bare feet and leap from the wood porch onto the slimy grass. I would run around while rain pellets struck every part of me, laughing and yelling as if this was a brand new phenomenon and I was the only person in the world experiencing it. The scent that invites you to inhale as deep as you can, until your lungs tighten and your beating heart feels like it’s on the outside of your chest. The sound that instantly soothes and makes you believe you’re right where destiny wants you, or energizes and pushes you to get on your feet and run. Then there’s the feel, as if your skin has never experienced this level of enveloping clean. A celestial clean. A nurturing clean. I had been convinced, since my first love affair with the rain when I was a toddler, that this element would always be my energizing solace no matter the circumstances...
