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To sit on a veranda, all but cuddled up in a blanket, green tea with milk and a generous amount of sugar in hand, and a good book next to you - gently put down, a leaf used as bookmark, as soon as you hear the first raindrops falling, as soon as the earthy and moist smell invades your senses.
Slowely, but surely the rains builds until the thundering white noise of the raindrops impact on the roof of your trusty home finally drowns out all thoughts and allows for peace to settle.
The tinge of the tea on your tongue tastes like home, the fuzziness of the blanket a soft caress on your skin, the dim light that makes its way trough the thick clouds is easy on your eyes, the warmth from your mug on your slightly chilled hands grounding you - mind free to run for the first time in years.
Water runs down tiles, makes its way over the wooden stairs and slides down the windows. As a child I used to select two drops and watch them „race“, at age 20 I learned thats a global experience. The most of us share a fascination for the rain, one way around or the other. The soft trickling is now joined by the sound of rain hitting wet splotches of grass and puddles. A symphony of comfort typically only the troubled and pained understand as beautiful.
Some people get soothed by the thought of their sins being washed away, other people find a speck of piece in thunder and deep grey clouds, just like their minds. Not too long ago I would have accounted myself to the later category, these days for me it is simply the illusion of smelling the world be alive and real. To let myself be enveloped in the release of nature. Feel alive and at peace at the same time, which was a straight opposition to me for years on end.
I have always liked the rain or rather water in general, but over the years the love has grown and matured. It progressed with every step back to myself or rather create me and what I want to be. Would you have told me two years ago, that I would be able to find peace in something as calm as in listening and breathing a hot summers downpour I would have fucking laughed in your face. I used to observe myself feeling alive everytime I risked, or gambled my life - that much is granted. Not to feel dead was always linked to adrenaline, or pure and unaltered rage, panic or pain.
Now I gather strength in quietness. Obtain creativity trough living less fast, with more genuine feelings. Discipline no longer feels like punishment, but rather like selfcare. And sitting here in the rain with my tea is giving my younger self the mental embrace it needed all those years.