I love the rain: the sound, the smell, the damp seeping into everything. I especially love the rain during the day, when the clouds move in to play hide and seek with the sun, and the temperature suddenly drops ten degrees. Something about it clears my writer’s mind, opens my creative vision and accesses all those words that are stored deep down inside.
Perhaps, it’s recessed memories that activate my imagination and force it into overdrive. When I was a child, storms meant no television, no electricity and not much to do except stay inside and stay dry. So we would read, or in my case, I would write. Mostly I wrote nonsense: silly poems, short stories, bits of this and that. Quite often I find these scribbles coming back to me and they end up hidden, like a small gem, amidst the ramblings of my adult writing.
Sometimes I wonder if other artists find their creativity hidden weather patterns, or phases of the moon. I write every day, but words come to me easier and my muse is far more vocal when the skies are overcast.