Lily of the Valley

^{“Lily, come on now, I want to show you something,” my grandma said to me.}

           

 ^{“Coming Mawmaw,” I replied, slipping my small hand into her wrinkled one.  We walked to the car, where I noticed storm clouds gathering on the horizon.}

           

^{“Where are we going?” I asked as she buckled me into my booster seat.}

           

^{“You’ll see,” is all she said, then kissed my forehead.  We were in the car for what seemed like hours, my grandma driving down the curvy West Virginia roads with ease.}

           

^{Finally, she turned down a road leading into a valley.  We passed a dilapidated farm house, a dried up creek, and other houses, most in obvious disrepair.  Not far down the road, we turned into a driveway with a small barn-shaped mailbox long since fallen.  She stopped the car just as the first drops of rain fell onto the windshield.  In front of us was an old stone rancher with a double garage.  In the front yard, and old tree stump sat next to a huge Weeping Willow.  We walked up the steps to the front door, hand in hand.}

            

^{“Mawmaw Hannah,” I whispered, “where are we?”}

           

^{“Lily,” she said, picking me up, “this is my old house.  I want to show you where I grew up.”}

           

^{So we strolled through her old house, her telling me stories of her childhood.  I could almost see where she found the dead hamster in the living room, or her family saying grace around the table.}

           

^{We made our way to the back porch; three rusted metal rocking chairs sat on one end, and on the other, a wooden swing swayed gently in the summer breeze.  Sitting me on the banister, my grandma continued to relive moments of long ago, the rain pitter-pattering against the roof.  A warm breeze swept through, tickling my skin and casting the smell of summer over the yard.  Lightning flashed quickly, briefly shading the valley in purple hues.  Thunder echoed off the hills, scaring me.  My mawmaw pulled me close to her chest.}

           

^{“You know what my grandpa used to tell me what thunder is?” she murmured into my ear.   I looked up and met her dark brown eyes, glistening with tears.   I shook my head.  “He told me thunder is just ‘taters falling out of a wheelbarrow.  So there is nothin’ to be scared of.  We used to sit out for hours, watching the rain fall.  My favorite place to be was in his arms during thunderstorms.”  She hugged me tighter, and I snuggled into her welcoming embrace.  Thunder rumbled faintly as the lightning bugs began to dance against the silhouette of the trees.  Frogs croaked loudly, and crickets hummed melodically.  That was when I realized my favorite place to be was in her arms.}

^{I wrote this for English class.  We had to tell about our favorite place from someone else's point of view.  It's different from most of the things I write, but I hope you like it.}