When I was a little girl I remember driving after the rain hit the earth. I used to think that god was bowling when the thunder shook my room and that the lighting was just god telling everybody that he was in charge. It was the rainbow though at the end of the heavy rain that my mother took most notice to. She would load my brothers and sister into the car, me sitting in the front on my knees so that I could see out the big window as we would drive down the county road in Wyoming. She would always tell the story about how god makes a rainbow after all the storms to remind us that he wont flood the earth again, she would go on to say that at the end of this beautiful work of art was a pot of gold with our names on it waiting to be found. We would drive for hours till there wasn’t anymore road left to go on. These memories of being so blissfully happy so unaware of the world in which I was growing up in are like the hidden treasures you find in your grandmothers attic. So rarely do we visit the attic but when we do it’s often a place were we find wonders to enjoy. Well as of this year its the attic which I’m going to have visit more than any space in mind because its been raining so long , the storm always looks like its about to clear up and then god gets a strike and he tosses some lighting to scare us into behaving and the rain picks up again. It’s almost to the point were I fear he’s deciding he doesn’t want to keep his promise anymore. If only like the memories from the attic my mom could really take a drive with me and chase that rainbow and reassure me that at the end of it is that pot of gold with my name on it . Something to remind me that life is so beautiful and that after ever storm is something that makes it all worth while.