When I was young, going on a drive with an adult (parents, of course) was a delightful – if not magical – experience. It always rendered me speechless, especially when they looked up the heavens and said, “Oh, that side is raining”.
Always, my eyes would follow suit in trying to trace the path of their eyes which bestowed them that information – an innocent’s child’s attempt of trying to figure out The Big World out there.
Sure enough, when we passed the place, it would always be raining.
This boggled, if not mesmerized, me in ways that a child often do when something bright and tinkling were dangled before them.
I always looked at them with sommat of an awe, how on earth did they know?
For, to my untrained eyes, all I saw were the clouds – the architectural whites with the backdrop of the wide ocean blue of a sky.
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