I remember how I used to hate it when it rained. To be more accurate, when it stormed. Now I look forward to it with a sort of melancholy joy.
The rain has slowed some, and I’m currently waiting for it to start the predicted booming of thunder. When I was little, my dad would play the Moonlight Sonata by Beethoven while it rained. The sound of rain mixed with the rich tone of our Petrof filled me with a sort of longing I could only try to satisfy with the wondrous smell of rain.
Now that I’m working on the Sonata, I can listen to myself. There is something immensely rewording about doing something that I have wanted to do since childhood.
1 I lift up my eyes to the hills—
where does my help come from?
2 My help comes from the LORD,
the Maker of heaven and earth.
3 He will not let your foot slip—
he who watches over you will not slumber;
4 indeed, he who watches over Israel
will neither slumber nor sleep.
5 The LORD watches over you—
the LORD is your shade at your right hand;
6 the sun will not harm you by day,
nor the moon by night.
7 The LORD will keep you from all harm—
he will watch over your life;
8 the LORD will watch over your coming and going
both now and forevermore.