I walked outside, completely unawares, the first thing I noticed was the distinctive scent. The fresh earthy scent which has only ever meant one thing to me. Petrichor, a beautiful word used to describe the unique scent of rain.
It was coming down so lightly I couldn't even feel the drops, and could barely hear the pitter-pattering in the distance.
Still, my mind drifted back to the old days, California has always been an all or nothing kind of place. They've been locked in a drought for Gods-know how long.
But a few times a year, the rain came to visit us in our desert. And when it rains, it pours. It's the kind of weather that makes you never buy an umbrella because it rains so infrequently and anytime it does rain it's so windy the umbrella would break anyways
The perfect weather for my younger self to take off running the moment the storm hits, flanked by 4 dogs, and run, and dance, and sing in the rain. Not thinking about the rocks and thorns, just playing with Crazy Cassey and the other psychotic, yet loveable dogs. They were just as crazy as me.
To most people rain means to hide, to me, it means: Let's take off our shoes and dance in the puddles. Let Nature wash away every care in the world as she bathes the Earth with her love. Don't care about the soaked-through clothes, dripping wet, hair so drenched I might as well have been swimming. Just enjoying the beautifully dark, dense clouds covering every bit of sky in sight. Listening to the music of Nature, the song found in the pitter-patter of rain, which blurs into a long, never ending whirring noise, a lighter version of the same noise made by the constantly spinning blades of Dad's windmill.
In the distance I can hear Grandma laughing at me, "You're going to catch a cold!" I think I pick out the words through the monsoon. I wave her off.
The puddles are growing, I begin to play a game with Buster. Running around, always keeping one of the lake-like puddles in between myself and him. Just trying to coax him into the water. Silly dog will run about with me and play in the downpour, doesn't care about getting wet then.
But you ask him to put his paw into a foot deep puddle and his golden brown eyes cloud with fear. And he will fight with everything he's got to stay away from the water. Big, silly beautiful boy.
Luna is the exact opposite, following me into the center of the puddle, and knocking me down into the mud.
I guess I'll have to let Dad hose me down before going inside, no way he'll let me in otherwise, I can feel the mud caking in my hair and I'm unsure if my shirt will be anything but brown again.
But I always feel more clean after a rainstorm, no matter how dirty I get playing during it.
* * *
I blink a few times, coming out of my memories smiling. This Utah rainstorm isn't anything like California, but I will definitely never be in the rain without some lingering happiness. I let the scent wash over me as the rain picks up ever so slightly, by the time I get to my car, it's still barely drizzling out. The light dripping of the rain has barely even wet my hair, yet as I get into the car and start it up, I can't help but feel at least a little lighter. As though Nature has given this gift to me to take away some of the pain and stress I haven't been able to get away from.
Thank you Mother Nature, for letting me feel like a child again, if only for a few short moments.
The Ghost of the Fallen Angel
YOU ARE READING
Random
RandomJust random things that i randomly write for some random reason or another. Some of it is depressing, some isn't. Most of it is found in old journals. All of it is from my heart. (Also I'm condensing most of my older posts on here all onto this one)
