The sky had been restless all day. I could tell. It had been overcast for days, and the clouds were sick of waiting. So was I. Everyone else was complaining about the chill, but I just wanted it to rain, rain and never stop, have a practically torrential downpour, even flood.
And rain it did. At first it was just a little sprinkle, a hesitant, tentative little type of rain that had never kissed sidewalk before, but then it escalated joyfully, chicken-pocking, then drenching the sidewalk, revealing the other, much darker shade of gray cement.
The trees had looked paralyzed when I had looked through the window of the AF Rec Center this morning, had only looked like a photograph of the trees, a still life, taken while the wind was blowing through them but possessing none of the vitality that the wind had. Now, however, their leaves were slow dancing, lightly swaying in the breeze, green and damp and vivid as the grass below them.
The new hanging basket Amy had added to our garden was standing as sure as ever, but the flowers inside were a bit wilted, their heads soaked and hanging down, waiting for the sun to come back. The metal rod it hung on was bent slightly under the weight of the water and the flowers combined, the yellow ribbon on the hook wet, and limp.
My mother wondered at the unusual weather and implored me to close the windows. I, for one, smiled at the flooded gutters, the drafty house, the passive sound of drops against the house, the opportunity to use an umbrella, the blurred windows. I liked the cold. I didn't mind when water seeped into my shoes and toes. I even wished I could drive without turning on my windshield wipers, just to see the water cascading down the glass.
But the smell. Oh -- that was what I loved the most about rain, the way it touched so many things but gave each a rich, unique scent. The freshness of wet grass, the familiarity of wet earth, the wild, exhilarating smell of wind alone --
I sometimes wish that I could just embrace the sky, leave Earth and live in the clouds.
And rain it did. At first it was just a little sprinkle, a hesitant, tentative little type of rain that had never kissed sidewalk before, but then it escalated joyfully, chicken-pocking, then drenching the sidewalk, revealing the other, much darker shade of gray cement.
The trees had looked paralyzed when I had looked through the window of the AF Rec Center this morning, had only looked like a photograph of the trees, a still life, taken while the wind was blowing through them but possessing none of the vitality that the wind had. Now, however, their leaves were slow dancing, lightly swaying in the breeze, green and damp and vivid as the grass below them.
The new hanging basket Amy had added to our garden was standing as sure as ever, but the flowers inside were a bit wilted, their heads soaked and hanging down, waiting for the sun to come back. The metal rod it hung on was bent slightly under the weight of the water and the flowers combined, the yellow ribbon on the hook wet, and limp.
My mother wondered at the unusual weather and implored me to close the windows. I, for one, smiled at the flooded gutters, the drafty house, the passive sound of drops against the house, the opportunity to use an umbrella, the blurred windows. I liked the cold. I didn't mind when water seeped into my shoes and toes. I even wished I could drive without turning on my windshield wipers, just to see the water cascading down the glass.
But the smell. Oh -- that was what I loved the most about rain, the way it touched so many things but gave each a rich, unique scent. The freshness of wet grass, the familiarity of wet earth, the wild, exhilarating smell of wind alone --
I sometimes wish that I could just embrace the sky, leave Earth and live in the clouds.
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