A Rainy Day in August – 2018
I remember days like this, when my white socks only reached my ankles. Days where the seasons played hide and seek, daring the sun to cower behind uninvited clouds.
Boarding school days of sleety grey, where the light was swallowed up by lead lined windows and religiously grained wooden panels. And where empty corridors cried in the lonely shadows.
The threat of rain kept us indoors, roaming silent weekend classrooms. Friday’s chalk still fresh but forgotten, in the teacher’s rush for weekend respite.
I would curl up on a window seat and follow rain drops as they mingled and merged towards their final earthy home. My home, in the still silence of unopened books, felt like a lifetime away.
My home, where the steam of Bolognese sauce would wrap itself around me like a comfort blanket. Mum defrosting minced beef in a boiling pot and cooking fists full of spaghetti.
The chopping of the onions brought tears to my eyes, making the raindrops stop for a second as if startled by their own reflection.
Now, I watch my breath warm the glass but in an instant, it has gone and, as the light fades outside, all I can see is a little girl staring back at me.
With so few rainy days this summer, when the rain did come, it brought a flood of memories.