One of the things I miss during the winter season is rain. Actually, it might just be the only thing I miss. I don’t really mind that the days get shortened by a several hours, but the sound and scents of rainfall, yes, those I miss. The world seems to sleep while Gaia casts her white blanket over us. I miss the strong autumn winds, the sound of thunder and the crash of lightning. I miss the raw, primal violence of it. I miss feeling insignificant, feeling as if there is something so vast and superior in this world that I’m nothing compared to it. I miss feeling alive, I mean really alive.
I also miss Norway, the nature there has a profound effect on my heart and soul. It is the only kind of love I’m 100% sure of, the only thing I can say that I’m in love with (obviously disregarding the love for family here, but yes, family too is love in a different way). Fortuantely, I’m most likely going to remedy that in about a week’s time. I’m going back to the mountains. Can’t wait.
I long for the moment when I can stand with my arms reaching into the sky, the sound of rain drowning out everything else with its deafeaning, persistant roar that only lightning can overpower. I long for the feeling of raindrops hammering against my skin. I long for the embrace of the autumn gale. Perhaps it is because it’s something primal, nature’s fury speaking to primitive man. I just know that part of the answer I seek lies within the mystery of mother earth’s fury.
A Glance Into a Writer's Mind 