One of my earliest memories is of a rainy morning. I woke up and sensed that something was different - yellow lamp light bathed our one-room apartment instead of streaks of sunshine. The air was ... heavier and it was still grey outside the windows. "Had the sun forgotten to rise today?"
I think it was the first time I perceived of the difference between rain and sunny weather. I nestled in bed, wholly delighted by the mysteries of the world. My mother, who was already dressed and fresh, noticed I was awake. "Good morning, Treasure..."
This morning recalled the morning so long ago, when I was intrigued by something as simple as rain, when I was completely given into the comforting presence of my mother. The emotions of a child is pure and true. Remembering moments such as those is medicine to my life now and the lack faith in everything.
I'm usually not one to be nostalgic, always insisting that our increased control and knowledge of the world is far superior to bewildered moments of childhood. But have I now grown so jaded that I need to indulge in the idealization of childhood?
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