I swear that I bring drama wherever I go. When I flew home for winter break (a short two weeks compared to the month-long excursion enjoyed as an undergraduate) I came in at the height of a major snowstorm. Whereas I left New Orleans in weather appropriate for pink shorts and flip-flops, I arrived in Boston to driving snow and biting winds; over two feet fell within a few short hours of my arrival.

My greeting upon arriving in New Orleans the other day was no less dramatic. Though I managed to arrive to clear skies, it was not long until black clouds rolled in, bringing torrential downpours and brilliant lightning displays. After listening to the drum of the rain on the roof, I opened the kitchen door which faces the backyard and sat on the sill, watching as the sky illuminated in great bursts and the rain fell in a staccato strobe. As the gutters began to spill over and the water pooled around the house, I was brought back to summer camp in Maine.

My favorite year there I lived in a cabin adjacent to a large and somewhat inclined field. One July day we sat inside as the forces of nature raged outside. Once the lightning had passed and we received a tentative all-clear from our counselors, we all rushed out into the field and proceeded to play a game of football, quickly becoming drenched and muddy. Word spread, more came, and the game soon became a free-for-all; but we did not care, ours was a divine kind of dirty.

Back to the present the water courses down, down, and I can not help but wonder where its eddies might take me if I would only let them.