Rain falls, soft rain making puddles

It finally rained today.
I took my camera with me to as I walked to my children’s school for my first day as a volunteer in Logan’s class. I helped a sweet young girl with her reading fluency. She was sweet and thin and fragile looking. Maybe she will be a pretty woman, but she did have a prominent nose with a bump on it.
Clearly she is bright. But she struggled with reading the words, with writing them on paper.
She held her pen awkwardly, twisted oddly in her hand the way my left-handed father did because he was taught to write right handed, and learned to adapt. But she was right handed.
When she wrote, she kept switching letters. “Spit” came out “Psit.” Each time she would catch herself, scribble out the mistake and try again. She hesitated, checked the spelling often and left out words.
Watching her struggle brought to mind what a blessing it is to me to be able to read. You see, I was not a natural reader either. I harbor in my heart the belief that I have a mild, undiagnosed case of dyslexia that is most prominently evidenced in my inability to spell.
But, I love to read.
I spend hours curled up with a book lost in imaginary worlds.
And I love to write.
My life is really something of a paradox.
I am rarely lonely unless I am in a crowd.
I love to travel but I hate to drive.
I love pretty things, beautiful girly paper, feathers and pink shoes. But I rarely wear make-up, or buy myself clothes.
I think I am both prettier and uglier than I really am.
I spend my life in my head. But I love to look outward, observing raindrops on playground equipment or the bright yellow of fall leaves against a deep green evergreen.
I have an artist soul, but I can not draw, or paint or chisel out a likeness of man from a hunk of stone.
I am feeling melancholy, but not sad. This rainy, fall days brings to mind the changing of the seasons and the circle of life.