The rain started with just a few drops, making wet splotches on the worn wooden deck. I looked up, and saw the maple leaves shivering; waves of silver sweeping through the trees.
Quickly, I gathered my scattered notebooks and pencils, and ran for the door. I had barely gotten inside when it started to pour in earnest, white sheets slanting down, hissing as they pounded the pavement.
In moments, the gutters were gurgling and chuckling as they emptied a wealth of water into the soggy soil. My dad called rain like this a “gully washer.”
It was certainly washing all the loose leaves off the trees!
The air filled with the smell of wet earth, wet earthworms, and the indescribable fresh scent of the rain itself.
I wanted to go out and dance in it. I wanted to feel it running like liquid life over my face and through my hair. I wanted to kick off my shoes, and skip barefoot through the puddles. I wanted to feel the mud squelch between my toes. I wanted to twirl on the slick grass, and see if I could keep my balance.
I love the rain.
And then it was petering out, as quickly as it had come. I dropped my notebooks and slipped through the door, through the last misty drops, and turned my back on the sun that was bravely shouldering the clouds aside. The light was the right angle for it. Was there? Could there be?
There was! There was a rainbow! A glowing watercolor swash against the dark western sky, where the storm still glowered. It swept from horizon to horizon, over the sun drenched woods shining in stark contrast to the purple clouds behind them.
Such glorious beauty! Such joy, to be alive, on such a planet!