“Rain. Tumble, bumble and, fall on me.
Any old day, any old way.
Come for a visit, or come for a stay.
Rain, rain, don’t go away.”
There has always been something comforting about the sound of rain. Some compare it to tears and sorrow but for me it has always been about new starts and starting clean. I grew up on the Georgia/Florida border where rain is an everyday occurrence. I can remember listening to it as my mother tucked me into bed, the quiet monotony underscoring my bedtime stories. I remember stepping outside and feeling the wet humid air clinging to my skin and hair, the charged presence in the air warning me about an upcoming storm. I remember during Hurricane Charlie slipping my parents leash and sneaking outside to dance in the rain.
In the rain we are all equal. None of us wiser, or smarter, or more beautiful. We are all reduced down to a sopping wet mess that dries off into something different. My blindness matters less when I’m out dancing to the melody that the raindrops sing to me. Each drop a different note, a different chord upon the ground, changing the dance it’s fluid changeable ways. If you’ve never danced in the rain, I advise doing so at least once before you die. Who cares what others think, open your heart and just dance. Let yourself get soaked, throw your electronics in the house and just move, because that’s what freedom is. I never knew the freedoms that a sighted person would know, but I know the freedom that the rain affords me. All are equal, all the same in the deep drowning pouring rain.
I guess I must be homesick, me the girl who’s not been home steadily going on four years now. Maine is beautiful, the scents, the sounds, the feeling of the air on my skin. All of that is lovely, but it’s not home. I grew up with the scent of peaches and oranges and magnolias littering the air. To the weight of humidity tying me down to the ground like a wet weight. I grew up where Sir and Ma’am still reign free, no matter what age you are. I miss my home. But I no longer belong there, there truly is no returning once you’ve gone. Still I’ll sit here by this window and listen to the raindrops tap upon the windowpane and just smile, knowing that tomorrow more rain will come.