It’s raining.

The rain pelts down on my window, and then slides slowly down the glass. I hear the patter of the drops on the roof, and pull my covers tighter around me, holding in the safety of being indoors. The sky darkens, and then a streak of lighting splits it in two, cracking it with a sudden burst of light.

Thunder roars, angrily.

“Why does thunder have to be so scary?”
“Well, the thunder says something to the lightning, and the lightning answers back.”

I remember this exchange between Greta and Maria in The Sound of Music. This is what that thunderstorm has triggered in my memory.

I wander downstairs to the living room, thinking maybe I will put in that movie, to watch for the zillionth time; I was named after Greta, in fact. But instead, I turn and go outside, my bare feet freezing in the water.

I wonder if Greta VonTrapp ever had to go out in the rain, so no one could tell she’s crying.