Watching Storms

I was walking with my father along an old friend of a pathway, a path I had walked a thousand time in the course of my life. The kind of chameleon pathway that has lived a thousand lives and did so each time it was walked by another. I liked walking it with my father though, I liked the time to reflect with him, to talk with him, to breathe in the deep earthy smell of rain rising from the ground. That smell of approaching rain is beautifully nostalgic for me, that smell would companion the dense humid air of a summer storm and the crack of thunder would be the storm's bell. And with that my father and I would go to the front verandah of the house and watch the storm in all it's angry brilliance. The air would become so thick with the rain rising to meet the clouds that you could taste it, the clouds would perform before our eyes in all their illusionary colours and formations, a tear would appear in the fabric of the sky causing light to touch upon the shivering life below and for a moment we as spectators would be permitted to wonder if that small scratch of light was really the sail of the heavens tearing to reveal a small piece of the majesty beyond it.
I would run out into it without regard to the drops that fell and soaked me through, I would jump through the puddles made in the uneven paving of the drive and find the holes where I could pretending that they were great lakes where adventure awaited. On precautionary days I would wear a raincoat that mum would call for me to use from the kitchen and I would grab the umbrella and run to the crack in the guttering where the abundance spilled over to watch it shower over me.
I loved those moments, I loved those storms because I loved watching them with the storm watcher, my father. Those storms remind me of summer nights as children we would sleep cushioned on the floor of the family room of the house with the fan circulating the small breeze that would gently break the heavy still air of the evening.
And so when the opportunity comes to smell that beautiful, earthy smell I breathe in deeply. I breathe in and dream of carefree, imaginative days gone by. And of a father who was and still is a giant to me.

A Friend Returns

Spring has made it's yearly travels and has again returned to my doorstep. Like a welcomed friend I greeted it with an early evening dinner in the backyard with my son on a blanket next to my husband and I. A delicate breeze as always accompanied it,  so faint as though it never wants to be discovered but there is always something in it's warmth after a long absence that makes me tingle. As I lay with my small family I looked into the early evening sky whose grey clouds had spent the day and I felt filled. What a simple and yet profound feeling. To simply feel filled. Perhaps it is the memories of times that were accompanied by this same breeze in years now gone, memories that this breeze carries on it's back, but excitement begins to find it's way into me. A sneaky, whispering excitment. And I feel grateful.