The Rain Cleanseth

Tonight I had a life-altering experience.

After a day of stress, heart troubles, anger, wraught and more, I decided that, although I was out of cigarettes, I needed more. I began to walk to the corner convenience store... however, their ATM was out of order and I would have to walk another 5 blocks to the next. With the temperature a beautiful 75 degrees and gorgeous, with lightning painting pieces of the sky a beautiful lavender that could rival any flower, and thunder tickling the lower ranges of the ear's spectrum, I thought... what the hell. I began to walk and as I walked I thought of the day's troubles and strife and began to build up steam, both in speed and temper.

I reached the next convenience store, made my purchase and walked outside to light a cigarette. No sooner had I finished when the tiniest drops of rain began, like condensation on a glass from a summer's day. I praised the rain, I welcomed it. And as I walked I took my shirt off, now clad only in shorts and sneakers. The rain came and when it seemed to hide as I passed under trees, I walked into the street and beckoned it.

It seemed as each drop hit my skin, my worries, my cares, my ill-gotten concerns and my unnecessary troubles melted. It was a physical feeling more than an emotional one. And as I walked, I picked up stride. There was a spring in my step. The rain began to soften, and I asked it to come again, and it did. Then it fell harder, as if testing my resolve. I passed my street and the next. And the next.

I wound up walking over a mile in the rain, both pouring and sprinking. And as it fell, I sang. Songs of rain, songs of love, songs of heartache and songs of life. And it was amazing.

And as I finished the last few steps before my front gate, it petered out to nearly nothing. I took my shoes and socks off and got a glass of water (irony, I realize) and sat outside to have one more smoke, and rather than heavy rain, the thunder sang out to me as if to say, this was for you... realize it and enjoy it.

And I did.