The sound of rain woke me up this morning and for a moment I was about ten years old and I was exultant because rainy summer days were very rare where I lived. On a rainy summer day, I was not required to go outside and play. I could stay inside and read book and write stories.
I’m not a child anymore but I still like reading books and writing stories. The lucky thing is I don’t have to wait until it’s raining to do so.
I sometimes wonder if I’d been left alone on those summer days, would I have gotten my fill of reading and writing? Maybe I would have gone on to do and be other things.
On the whole I’m glad I didn’t. But every time I hear the rain, I’m still that little girl who can’t wait to open her book.