Dancing in the rain...
I woke up this morning to the sound of rain, hard and driving, and the blissfully chill breeze circling in through my window and winding around my body. Paradise is sere and brown and needs the rain to bring its greens back on line. I like to dance in the rain ; face upturned, grass slick beneath my feet moving to the melody in my blood. Heck I like to dance anywhere; in supermarkets, as I pass an open window and a phrase, a riff of music grabs my feet and leads them through the pattern to complete the thought, waiting on line in banks I shimmy and groove if there is music on and people give me room. How can they keep their toes from tapping to the endless beats of rhythm that cascade through and round us all the time?Rain has its own rhythm, now fast, now slow; pounding, soft, a splat on glass, a thrum on wood, tap tap, tap tap against the tarmac of the road that leads right to my door. The earth expands, exhales the scents and stinks of life as water makes them bloom under the soft grey skies, full of promise and redemption. Rain beats staccato, cold, upon my skin, my eyelids and runs across my lips collecting in the corners of my smile, then suddenly it stops and I twirl untouched in crystal air washed clear of dust, perfect for breathing.
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