About rain;

super-short prose on hoping for rain.

I never used to look forward to the rain. I live in a country where rainy days are the norm rather than the oddity. But yesterday, as I sat looking out over my parents’ garden I suddenly felt a want for tiny drops in a large quantity. I wanted so badly to hear the drumming sound of rain against a window, the sensation of a new, colder wind and leaves getting whirled up from the non-grassy corner my dad had groomed them into.

I remembered having felt the same need a few days earlier when I had been sitting in my sister’s bed in her apartment that I’m looking after while she’s away in Indonesia, back against the wall, reading. Nothing would have soothed me more in that moment than that curious smell of rain-incoming. We’re not even having a very warm or dry summer. Danes will mope about the weather regardless. But I had longed for the rain; for being cleansed, re-born and shedding who I were, embracing who I’d become.

Reviews

[Kate mccracken]

I feel this. Rain is such an intricate thing to write about and with it comes so many feelings and thoughts. You did an excellent job describing the wanting for rain