It’s that one breath that tells you, the rain is coming.
The birds chirp differently, the skies give subtle hints. Music on the radio suddenly becomes meaningful. Memories of lovers long-gone linger on the breeze with the smell of the earth, teasing you and the leaves.
You know it’s truly almost here though, when the very air is heavy with the water it carries. Drenching everything it touches with its sticky, humid promise of the reward to come.
And when it comes, it thrashes the earth. Mildly at first, like a lenient mother, but then wildly, like a passionate drummer. And the earth fights back, flinging away the first few drops like a bouncer in a bar fight, but after a while gives in and simply gulps gratefully. While the thunder and lightning provide the perfect laser sound and light show, the highpoint of the performance.
And when it’s over, the city emerges — all green and clean, like a girl freshly showered and shampooed, glowing in anticipation of the day to come, scrubbed and beautiful — filled with hope.
Because along with memories, that’s what the rain brings. It brings hope.