When I was a little girl I loved to watch the rain. The season or time of day did not matter to me. I could lose myself in that soothing sound and refreshing smell for countless minutes. It was the most effective way to ease my little mind of all it’s troubles, because I saw magic happen when I looked out my window.
Each drop became like an individual person to me. When the rain started slowly on a hot summer day, I imagined a small amount of people gathering for a backyard bar-b-que. The steam rising off the pavement was like the smoke given off by a grill. I could almost smell the baked beans and ribs. After enough rain had fallen to form a small puddle, that was their swimming pool. They would jump right in, one after another, making an endless series of splashes. I watched those rain people mill about together, friendly and laughing, enjoying the company of one another with a dreamy smile on my face.
Sometimes the rain was heavy and wild. I still watched the people. At times like that I saw a masquerade ball. The torrents of rain that the wind spun relentlessly were the fabulous dresses of the twirling beauties. I felt their passion and excitement as they were swept along in the arms of their handsome lovers. I would feel my breath catch on a strike of lightning as it illuminated my imaginings to their fullest. It was then that I could see even the wallflowers, waiting beneath the limbs of the trees, watching with longing in their eyes. I made sure to see the wind sweep a shy beau or two in their direction.
I cannot be certain of the exact time that it happened, but eventually I stopped seeing my rain people. I actually forgot about them. As I suppose it happens to most everyone when they grow into adults that must face reality everyday, I lost my magic. I did not even notice the tragedy of this until I got caught driving in a rainstorm the other day. I was stopped at a red light, looking tiresomely out my windshield, and what did I see? The faintest glimmer, maybe a shimmer of memory, that looked suspiciously like a troop of tap dancers on the pavement in front of me. That little thought tickled my brain all the way home. I just could not shake it.
When I finally pulled into my drive it was really coming down. I had a trunkload of groceries and two small children in the backseat. I really did not feel like getting drenched, or dealing with the inevitable mess that was bound to follow if we all made a run for it, so we decided to wait it out for a few minutes. It was during this wait that my magic returned. I was watching the rain stream down the windows, and before I knew exactly what I was saying, I was telling my children all about the wonderful Swan Lake ballet happening outside around us. Not to my surprise they were able to see it with very little encouragement.
I am beyond thankful for the gift I was able to share with them. They no longer dislike storms, but instead look forward to seeing their rain people again. I have learned through this that some of the magical things we experience during childhood are well worth embracing and passing down to our little ones. Do not allow those wonderful treasures to sit upon a shelf in your brain and stagnate like I did for so long. Pass them along, share them with the world, and indulge yourself in it all the while.
Charity Abbott is a 31 year old wife and mother of three from the small rural town of Maplesville, AL. She works as a caretaker for an elderly couple. Her interests include a wide variety of outdoor activities including: camping, fishing, horseback riding and gardening. When the weather does not cooperate you can be sure to find her somehwere with her nose stuck in a book.
