It was a dark and stormy night. Lightning lit up the whole sky, like a giant camera flash. Rain fell, like a million little needles. Winds lashed by, like a giant whip being swung.
I was glad to be home, safe from the elements. And I was tired from two days of ballet rehearsals and lessons. As I watched the lightning and rain, as I heard the thunder and wind, I felt wistful. Rainy days induce in me a strange feeling of nostalgia. Perhaps I was born on a rainy night many years ago.
I remember standing on the verandah looking out into the rain. I remember watching the leaves glaze over with a coat of rain. I remember the precision, the sleek wetness of the rain. I remember gazing into the sky in wonder, “Where does the rain come from?”
And I saw that the moon had left a grin.