Rain

Flashes of sheet lightning illumine the darkness, fluttering strobes that brighten the night sky.  Thunder grumbles like hundreds of potatoes tumbling down a child’s curly-Q slide.  

Rain?  Now?  It’s not time!  Winter isn’t over.  Obese white mounds, pregnant snow bellies, still maternally cover the ground. Tomorrow’s temperatures are predicted to dip back down to the teens.

And yet rain falls.  Spring rain. 

I open the door to face pitch-blackness, step outside into crusty snow, and turn my face upward to receive the sting of cleansing droplets. The night air cuts away daytime presumptions.  It seems to say yes, spring is coming.  Can’t you smell it? 

Cold drops roll down my cheeks and neck.  For a precious few seconds I stand with palms reverently upturned.  I wonder at the miracle of my own presence in this world, and thank the weeping clouds for saturating dormancy and promising new life.