Rain, The Alchemist, and Writing

Ah, today's just one of those wonderful rainy, satisfying days. Outside, it's dark and wet and still. I can hear the raindrops on the roof as they fall, and when the rain abates, the chirping of the birds peeps through the stillness as a calm reminder of spring. Even the air in my room smells fresh and alive.

I love rain... True, sometimes it's the devil, but we need rain. It washes over things and makes them new again. It clears my thoughts, too. Like chamomile tea for the brain. Rain makes me joyous, and incredibly appreciative of this earth we live on. I remember countless rainy days when I was little when I would go outside by myself to play. I'd make up grand stories of adventure and escape, and come back inside smiling and soaked. Sometimes my mom and I would do rain paintings together. This was never a planned activity - as it depended on a good rain - and a very cherished one. Those times were like the first bud of spring: rare, timeless, and priceless. And then there were the times, when I got a little older, when I'd stay inside and read the whole day. So peaceful.

Rain allows me to live in the present, take it as it comes. That's such a wonderful feeling, especially for someone who plans things out meticulously. I do that even unconsciously sometimes...always thinking of what's next.

I read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho - the book we're reading in English class - for a while this morning. It really gets you thinking. It's a book about following our Personal Legend - the destiny set out for us, should we choose to follow it. It's an empowering book, and every time I read it, I'm filled with an overwhelming urge to go out and do something, along with the contrasting desire to just sit and read and absorb every single word of that book. That produces a strange conflict, which can sometimes get a little irritating. But eventually I'm able to resolve myself to reading the book, figuring that that's a step to achieving my Personal Legend.

But right now, I feel like I writing. I'm trying plan ahead too much on what exactly I'm going to write. The best things I write are spontaneous. All I know right now is that I'm perfectly comfortable and cozy and happy snuggled up here in my bed, with my windows open, hearing the birds, and looking out my window to see the yard gradually lightening as the sun comes out of hiding.