(Note from author Sophie: a “lamby” is a sheep skin that I have slept on and loved since I was a few days old.)
Outside the window, wind rushes. It’s so strong it makes the grass move and form patterns. The sky is covered in a dark gray blanket. It reminds me of my childhood, when my brothers and I (my sister was too young to care) would sit next the window and race the drops of water to the bottom of the glass. The wind is stronger now. It makes the house creek and groan. When a strong gust hits the house we all look up at the same time, just for a moment and then return to our writing. I see birds flying in the storm and almost laugh. A seagull tries to out fly the wind but keeps getting pushed back. I wonder if it will give up or keep trying. There’s something about stormy days the inspire people. I think as writers we feel more poetic on rainy days. Rain is the best cure for writers block. We draw from it somehow. But as teenagers we are also distracted by it. Every time the house shakes from the wind we feel inclined to say something as profound ‘Awesome!’ or ‘Bitchin!’ I don’t know why but it’s almost helpful to have someone break the serious hush that hangs over us with a quick ‘holy shot!’ and then continues writing. There isn’t a lot of rain, just wind. In a way this is good because we can go to the beach and watch the storm. But in another way it’s bad because we miss the peaceful sound of rain hitting the glass. It’s soothing and makes me think of my home. When it rains or snows I’ll make some hot chocolate, grab my sister and maybe a cat and just sit, watching the water fall from the sky. It’s funny. When I was little; if a storm hit, all I wanted to do was hide from it in my dad’s arms, grabbing my lamby as I ran to him. But now, as much as I miss my family and home; more than I ever thought possible, I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than Hyannis MA, sitting on a floral sofa; writing about a storm.