What is it about the quiet that comes after a storm that seems so beautiful? It's like everything that happened moments before becomes so minute. You start to appreciate the beauty of the little things- a small dog yapping a few miles away, the sound of bustling traffic slowly gaining pace and the precise shrieking of the neighbor's broom sweeping in a new day. I've never seen a morning quite like this before. How could it have been just there- hiding in plain sight?
When it rains for two whole years, one cannot help but appreciate the first spot of dry land.