When I was in 8th grade, California was in a bone-dry drought. We took quick showers. Lawns died. Cars wore coats of dirt.
One day in English class, a strange soft drumbeat began. We strained our ears and memories, then gasped and turned to look outside.
“Let’s open all the windows, be quiet, and listen to the rain,” Mrs. Zimmerman said.
The drought had ended. My thirst to capture the moments of my life had begun.