The rain plummeted down followed by the odd company of thunder. It raged on with gradual flashes of lightning.

I was in the company with my grandparents, looking out the window in awe at the storm. Grandad cracked a joke about God having a good old rummage in the kitchen, clumsily dropping mugs, pans and dishes. I recalled back to the imagination of God having a piddle on the steel urinal basins, but grandad interrupted me halfway, silencing me with a single finger to his lips. It’s not like Grandma could hear, I thought. But I should know her better by now. She could read my lips like she could read the alphabet backwards in her sleep.

Grandma buried her brown below the frame of her glasses. She gestured the falling of rain by sprinkling her fingers in a downward motion and handed me a pen and paper. I turned to my grandad for confirmation.

“Your grandmother wants you describe the weather, Paul. But she wants to hear the sounds, ya know? The clatters and the clambers. Just imagine what I said about about holy lord throwing a tantrum in his kitchen.”

My smirk carried uncertainty and I waved the pen like a magicians wand, hoping ink would spill onto the paper in the form of words. Grandad’s eyes glistened with pride as if I was Robert Louis Stevenson signing him an autograph.

Who would know that a page of inked words would have much value to another person? They were like treasure to my Grandma.

Either way, I couldn’t let her down.

‘ They are certainly right when they predict their is a calm before the storm. I was doing homework in my bedroom when rain droplets hit the guttering outside. It started with a single thud, gradually building into a repetitive rhythm. It was relaxing. The tranquil environment I needed to divulge into the multiple maths equations stubbornly sitting their in front of me. The rhythm picked up, like beats building up their momentum to a pop chorus. Then it was restless. Hailstones hit the gutter like drumsticks on a cymbal. Lightning ordered thunder to roar the skies like a lion ruling their safari empire. I just felt darkness. But a darkness I could confide and find comfort in. The rain applauded encouraging majestic lights of white, yellow and purple to strobe light the sky. I know you can’t hear lightning, but i could. The sky was thick paper getting torn at different levels of intensity. Rain still clambered down. This lasted for hours. All I could do was listen and watch. The booms. The bangs. The crashes. It was just really how Granddad put it- God rummaging around upstairs in his kitchen. ‘

I smiled at the last sentence and then handed it to Grandma. They both read it and as I watched Grandma, I realised how lucky I was. Lucky to be able to hear.