The Sound of Rain

by Sam Braude

“Everywhere I looked, I saw something interesting: ants going inside an anthill, birds humming tunes on branches, the pawprints of an animal that most likely journeyed to cross our yard the night before”

My mom loves nature. She thinks the wonders of nature can only be seen if you let itself be presented to you. So on a rainy day, my parents tell me to pack my bags and to get ready for a four-hour drive to Lake Tahoe. I quickly try not to over-pack, while fitting as many belongings as I can in my backpack. Then I get to the car and wait for my parents. As I sat down in my cool seat in the back, I felt the cold air fill my lungs, and the hard droplets of rain falling across the windows, the static noise almost echoing in the car, and in my head. It was a relaxation that I have never felt before, a total release of stress. The next four hours of the ride were the same, the soothing sounds of rain against the windshield and a faint conversation between my parents.

I laid horizontally across the back seats. My mind filled with crazy thoughts while observing my surroundings. I found myself entranced in being observant, taking in information, as if the world around me was an abstract painting in a museum. Before I knew it, rain turned into snow, and we were parked in our cabin’s driveway. Stepping outside, I feel the snow crunching underneath my boots in the freezing air, as well as the towering pine trees surrounding me. My mom rushes me inside and I was met with hardwood floors, some furniture, and a lit fireplace. I can feel myself smelling the distinct fragrance of the house and immediately relating it to being calm and cozy. I rushed upstairs to my bedroom, and put my bag next to my bunk bed in the corner of the room. The room was silent and empty, yet still felt inviting. When I walked out, I saw that it was already dark, so I immediately did my nightly routine and tucked myself to bed.

The next day I woke to the coldness of our home, a distinct coldness that I can remember to this day. I put on as many layers as I could and step outside. It was bright, cold and smelled like nature. Everywhere I looked, I saw something interesting: ants going inside an anthill, birds humming tunes on branches, the pawprints of an animal that most likely journeyed across our yard the night before. As I came back inside, I felt myself falling in love with the atmosphere. I sat down at the small kitchen table and ate my bowl cereal for breakfast. The rest of the trip was filled with excitement and cheerfulness, as I skied down what seemed as monstrous hills, exchanged snow balls with close family friends, learned how to ice skate, made snowmen out of whatever I can find. By the end of the few weeks that I was there, I almost established a bond with that place. I grew familiar with every part of the house like it was the backyard, the living room, and the upstairs area.

Although it was a rather small abode, I developed many childhood memories there, many memories that are ingrained in my head today. So as we were packing up to head back to San Francisco, I took home my things, checked if I left anything out of the house, and headed back to the car where I would lie down and blankly stare at our neighborhood. As the car left our driveway, I bid farewell to our beloved house, because it would most likely be the last time that I would see it. On the way back, I looked out the window. I looked at houses flying by, trees flying by, and I had one simple thought. As I laid down again, across the back row of my seats, I heard the familiar sound of rain again, dancing across the roof of the car. And so I listened.