When I was little, I liked to sit outside on our front porch and watch the rain. It humored me how the second rain drizzled down umbrellas popped open, windows were closed and people rushed inside, seeking shelter from the storm. I liked how for those first few minutes when it rained, everything was quiet and the hustle and bustle of everyday lives were forgotten- almost as if everyone stopped to watch the rain too. And the sky looked like glass, and the rain beat a rhythm against the ground as it fell, combined with the sound of ringing wind chimes and leaves rustling in the wind, it sounded like a symphony. It was a symphony of quiet and stillness, that only those who could knew of it could hear it. It was something to be felt and seen and tasted and smelt and heard. It wasn't something that you just knew of, it was something that you really had to feel, down to the core of your soul- something that would just spark within you upon realization and then BAM! You could listen too.
I felt like it was almost a secret code amongst those who listened, that we weren't to share it or tell anyone unless they already listened too. It wasn't something to be discussed, it was to be felt and I respected that.
And every time I met someone new, I couldn't help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, they sat on their front porch and they listened too.
YOU ARE READING
Love, Emma
Teen Fiction"E-Emma? It's okay y-you know. I-I'm used to i-i-it." "You shouldn't have to be, some people disgust me, the nerve of them." "I can't blame t-t-th-them, I m-mean l-l-l-look at m-me." He sounds so defeated, even though I can tell he's trying to hide...
