It starts with a clap of thunder. The smell, the sound of the drops gently dripping in the light rain, or the sound of pounding rain on the old metal overhang on the porch in my backyard when it’s coming down faster than the gutters can wash it away. The thunder as it booms through the air; the sound of an angry dragon roaring out it woes to the world beneath, as it flies overhead in the sky. It is the formless monster of our childhood, that strikes fear in our hearts, but comes to a pure nothingness of empty rambling sounds when we reach adulthood.
It is when the rain falls, washing the world, that it also cleanses my mind and soul that I have my purest Vision. Not the vision of my eyes, but the vision of my minds’ eye. I envision different places, people, times, and situations that seem to flow through my brain, racing through my synapses a million miles a second. Some are so quick, they are like the lightning that flashes through the overcast sky. Others are loud and boisterous; they are akin to the rumbling thunder that demands to be heard. Still others fall and puddle in my head, only evaporating once I have written them, and gave the water words a place to absorb.
Just as a drought is devastating to the land in which it has robbed of it’s nourishment, a drought is equally devastating to my inner landscape of thought. My lush greenery, and well rooted trees of syntax, begins to shrivel and brown from the lack of a satiating storm. My Vision has been dirtied, muddied and clouded. I will wait patiently for a reviving rain to pour and open my mind once more.