Rain☔️

Pounding on the roof of our car as we drive home at midnight, I had only two percent battery on my phone, and nothing to do but listen.

I heard what was sounding like a million tiny pebbles showering down, pounding against the ceiling of our two year old black Jaguar, bouncing off and flying high as if they were on a trampoline.

I was laying down now, my body was spread sideways across three seats, with my head resting in my sister’s lap. I was about to drift off to to the rumble of thunder, when we heard the sudden crack of lightning.

Almost home, and falling asleep. Dad carried me into my bed.

I fell asleep to a thunderstorm, but I woke up to a rainbow.

Place🏰

I’ve only been here once, but I long to back.

Nestled in the rolling hills of Slovenia, there is a house. A house with fresh eggs from live chickens next door every morning. A house where you can stand on the fountain in the front yard and see a castle. A house where the doorway is covered with hanging strands of green ivy, and where everything you see is picture perfect.

I would stand outside and play catch for hours, till the sun set, and till the moon rose. The roads there were narrow and winding, and due to the grape orchard and flower trail behind the little cottage, it always smelled like French wine.

This is not a fancy house either. It is a small wooden two-story shack with a balcony only 10 or 12 feet from the ground. There is a stone wall stretching the perimeter of the house, and a driveway so steep I could slide down it.