One stormy day last year, I stood in my doorway, watching the watery spectacle unfold. I saw the glistening body of a snake moving through the grass toward the wood line. There, at the edge of the property, stood a single tree, aflame with yellow flowers. Even amidst all of that gray and wet, that fire couldn’t be extinguished. It stubbornly swayed in the heavy wind.
For some reason, that image made me think back to my childhood.
In the country, we’d set out metal drums to catch rainwater. I’d curl up into a quiet corner reading while half-listening to the pat-pat of raindrops against aluminum and wondering if there was a word for the burning smell that rose up from the asphalt. Time would seem to stand still as the whole world became blanketed by the sound of steadily falling rain.
I still love these times best, when the world is drenched in green and wet.
Whenever it rains, some bittersweet feeling always fills my heart and I can’t quite shake that feeling of missing someone acutely.
— Written for The Daily Post photo challenge, Nostalgia.