It is raining hard outside right now. These rainy days remind me of rainy days when I was a child. Mama kept a large beautiful chiffonier in the living room. Even though she kept everything in it under lock and key, she gave me access to one of the bottom drawers.
In the drawer I kept play dishes and doll clothes and pieces of cloth to use on my dolls. When it rained and we couldn’t go out to play, instead of feeling disappointed, I felt joyous because it was my opportunity to play with my dolls and the things in the bottom drawer of the chiffonier. Since I was the youngest child for eight years I played mostly by myself.
We lived in a large rambling house with long glass windows that almost came down to the floor. From time to time as I played, I wondered what was going on in the outside world beyond the window, the porch, the street, and even our small town. What are other people doing when it rains like this?
I don’t wonder anymore. People do all sorts of things. They bake bread, sew, work on the computer, knit, crochet, write, converse with one another, read, and wait for the rain to stop so they can perhaps go outside and see how everything looks.
That’s what I did when the rain stopped. My brothers and I ran outside to see the world, now wet, the leaves now glistening with drops of water, roses drooping a bit, the ditch flowing like a small river, the rainbow way up in the sky, and the cleanest air one can ever breathe. It was another world and we were happy to be in it.
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