Tuesday, July 29, 2008
As the Sky Cries, I Smile
I feel all childlike inside today. Memories of my younger days are swirling around me like the steam from a cup of hot chocolate on a rainy day. It's raining out today, and you know how I feel about the rain.
Climbing the mountain in the rain, and walking through the dense forest takes me back to early days...camping in the woods, hearing the soft tapping of the heavy drops on the top of the tent singing me a lullaby as I fall into sleep, squirming towards the middle to avoid the damp sides of the tent...opening the zipper door in the morning and awakening to the fresh scent of the fragrant cedar trees. Camping just wouldn't be as adventurous without a nighttime shower.
I miss thunderstorms. Terribly.
I grew up in an area where the storms could be fierce. I loved to watch the deep purple clouds crawl in over the distant mountains on the far side of the lake. All would be calm, sunny even, but the anticipation of what was to come was so exciting. You could hear the distant echoes of the thunder, and catch a flash or two if you happen to be looking in the right direction at the exact perfect time. I didn't want to blink and miss it. And then, it would be over you. A torrent of rain and wind and light and sound. At night, sometimes the lightning would be so intense, it looked like broad daylight for several seconds. And then, just as fast as it came, it would be over...and once again, you could hear the faint grumbling of the restless clouds drift farther and farther away...brewing...stewing...preparing to release its fury once again in another far off place.
Today isn't one of those kinds of days. But it is equally wonderful. It's a soup and crackers kind of day. Reminds me of rainy days when I was a child, when my mom would bake something in the kitchen that would engulf the whole house with comforting scents, while we played hide and seek...puzzles and games strewn across the floor.
It's all about comfort. I love to feel warm and dry, wrapped in a blanket, a cup of tea in one hand, a rich novel in the other. And a window to watch the sky cry.