I grew up on a farm in the mountainous region of Putumayo, Colombia. I remember sitting outside on the veranda watching the rain pour. I remember the smell of wet grass and soil. There was a slight breeze that rushed past me as if I were invisible. I could hear the tapping of the water above me, it was so loud that it almost resembled hail on a tin roof. I watched the gutter go from trickling water to gushing rivers. The thunder shook the house and lighting danced above bringing flashes of light upon my face. I sat there, when I was 6 years old, taking it all in. To me, the rain was magical. It washed away so much yet it also allowed for the vast open plains to remain green and full of life. To this day I still admire the rain for the blessings it bestows and for the inspiration it gives. Those memories of my childhood are the ones I treasure most.