Rain.
[originally written August 28th, 2006 in Stratford, Connecticut]
As I wright, I listen to the sound of the rain beating down. I watch it splash up in a fine mist off the statues, plants, and other things in the garden. The room is frequently illuminated by distant lightning, but I hear no thunder accompanying it.
I have always loved the rain. Ever since I was a child I loved to go outside during a downpour just to feel the rain beating down on me. I no longer do that quite so often.
While gazing down through the blinds at the flooded garden, I wonder why water fascinates and enchants me so.
As I wright, I listen to the sound of the rain beating down. I watch it splash up in a fine mist off the statues, plants, and other things in the garden. The room is frequently illuminated by distant lightning, but I hear no thunder accompanying it.
I have always loved the rain. Ever since I was a child I loved to go outside during a downpour just to feel the rain beating down on me. I no longer do that quite so often.
While gazing down through the blinds at the flooded garden, I wonder why water fascinates and enchants me so.