I have a love/hate relationship with thunder storms. They still frighten me. The sudden crashes and deep rumbles seem to vibrate my very core and ignite in me a sense of impending doom. I guess this is true of any deep rumbling. It rushes back that sensation of panic which I felt in the 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake. Angels bowling. That was my father's explanation for thunder. A whimsical thought for such a dreadful feeling.
But rain...
Rain comforts and inspires me. It draws scent and color out of every element within its reach. It warms the air just enough to entice me out into it. Breath it in. The sky shifts and swirls, contrasting the ominous with silver streaks. And then, randomly, it opens up in brilliant displays as if the clouds could not tame their own divinity. And then, at intermission, drops cling to bony branches and glimmer. Fleeting diamonds.
Rain gives these four walls a purpose. Protect me. Keep me warm. Preserve my treasures. It decorates my windows and entertains. It seems to make music flow deeper and truer. It pulls poetry from me and gives me permission to expose my insides. My very basic, raw, human core.
i will never forget that earthquake, and although i look forward to the summer time thunder boomers here, they always scare me
ReplyDeleteWriting is a very tricky thing. Although there are some basic "rules" we learn along the way there is no surefire method for being a good writer. There is, however, one thing I believe all good writing has in common - honesty.
ReplyDeleteI think if a writer finds him/herself writing to impress others they've already failed. If, on the other hand, they're opening themselves up to share something real; something that may be painful or humiliating, but shines a light on our common experiences to maybe help someone else out, or to just take an honest look at themselves, then they've written something worthwhile.
That's what I think you've done here. Thanks.