The Sound that a Raindrop Makes.
There's just something about a rainstorm.
When I was younger, I stayed with my grandmother a good amount of time. I never had to enroll in daycare, or afterschool care, as she was always there to take care of me. She watched me during the days before I started school, in the afternoons once I started school, and over summer breaks when there was no school, all while my mom was busy at work. She has always been a very influential person in my life, and my mother, my little sister, and I even lived with her for a little while.
My grandmother, whom I call “Ma,” lives in a rural community, in a house down a dirt road, away from the highway, off on its own. Her humble abode is bordered by forest, and during growing and harvesting season, she plants and picks from her garden in the front yard. She is the epitome of a southern lady, in every imaginable aspect. She expects manners, she uses the switch (if you don’t know what that is, count your blessings), and she is humble in the way that she lives and treats others. There’s a lot to be learned from her life.
Today, however, I sit in my apartment in New York City, many miles from where she lives, and it’s raining. I sit here, working on a new writing project and drinking my coffee, enjoying the evening shower while I listen to the passing cars out of an open window. I’ve always loved rain, especially thunderstorms, and the sound that a raindrop makes. I tend to feel like I become the most creative when the weather is being creative itself. And yet, as I write and silently revel in the rainy weather, I cannot help but think of my Ma.
You see, my grandmother loves the rain too. As a child, I remember vividly sitting on her side porch, watching the rainstorms. She would gather me from in front of the television set and would go throughout the house and turn off all of the electronics, televisions, and lights. She would then grab a diet soda, and we would go and just sit on the porch. The wind from the storm would blow the misty air up on to where we sat, as it blew throughout the quiet house, slamming open doors along its way.
Now, years later, as I sit here and think back over these moments, I realize how important they were to me. I realize how important it is to stop and just be quiet. How important it is to stop and enjoy the gift of nature. How important it is to stop and enjoy the sounds, the feels, and the sights that artistically demonstrate the complexity of our planet and its creation. I sit here, and I realize that my love and spawning of creativity, due to rainstorms, was taught to me by my grandmother. In a world of oversaturated communication, social media, and phones in everyone's possession constantly, we overlook the creative power of our world and forget to take time to be silent and just admire it.
Life is loud, yet I sit here in silence. There is no music playing, no television on, no facebook up, but instead it's just me, a once blank sheet of paper, and the rainstorm.