Rain
It's
been raining here almost everyday for a month, soft rain
that mists for a few moments, and then skitters away in
the afternoon, crashing thunderstorms that rattle the
windows.
One day, the black clouds came racing in from the west,
we'd been seeing them build all day, and knew another one
was coming. Mountains were growing in the sky,
huge, black and glowering. The air was heavy and
still, the only birds we could hear were the crows as
they cawed in their heavy, slow glides from oak tree to
maple tree and across the street again.
The kids in the street were all talking about it,
"The storm's coming, the storm's coming!"
Some were fearful, afraid of the lightning that might
come, others, especially the boys, were scornful of such
fear, and proclaimed that "It's just noise, and
jeeze, you won't melt!!" I laughed to myself,
listening from the window...
Without warning, the first few drops fell, a kind of
light pattering noise sweeping down the street, like
fingers tapping on a table. With a sudden whoosh,
the sky opened up, and the "real rain" started
to fall, silver sheets that streamed from the sky as the
children ran to their doorways.
One
(mine!) stops, his shoes long ago taken off and left on
his front porch, and runs to the nearest new puddle and
stomps as hard as he can! Splash! Rivulets of rain
running down through hair plastered to his head, and
waves of water jumping from his feet to his knees!
I call to him, and with one last Stomp! he runs to me,
laughing, his t-shirt wet through, his eyes sparkling,
shouting, "I'm coming, don't worry, I won't
melt!"
The lightning follows almost immediately, and we count,
1-Mississippi, 2-Mississippi, 3-Mississippi, and listen
for the thunder, to track the path of the storm. Is
it closer, is it farther? The
"Mississippi's" get longer, and we realize with
a twinge of regret, that the storm is passing. A
last couple of flashes light up the sky, thunder booms
distantly, and then fades.
Gently now, the rain whispers to us, wrapping itself
around the house, decorating the puddles with glistening
silver swirls and rings. Rivers are created in the
backyard, the grass and trees gleam with brand-new green
and silver light. A breeze wanders in through the
windows, cool, smelling sweet and fresh.
The sparrows chirp, questioningly at first, hesitating,
wondering, "Is it done, is it over, has it passed us
by?" A black squirrel bounds down from the top
of the walnut tree, and scampers across the grass,
dancing between the last few raindrops, and yes, it is
done.
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