Can You Hear Me?

I can show you
That when it starts to rain
Everything's the same...

-The Beatles, Rain

On the day that rain returned to Texas, I found myself almost successfully suppressing the urge to dance in it.

I dressed, took the Golden Retriever out for her morning constitutional and walked slowly to my car. I walked slowly to feel the rain dance on my skin, to feel each blob of dihydrogen oxide impact on my hair with a rather ungraceful splatter.

I stood before the car and stared upward into the sky, admiring the simple beauty of nature's smattering of grayscale artistry. Neighbors around me darted to their cars and houses as quickly as they were able. Not three days ago, I talked with one of them about how they wished that the rain would return.

Rain brings a welcome break from the Texas heat. Rain brings life to grass that has been dying a slow, painful death during the heat of July and August. Rain increases the flow and volume of the area's lakes and streams. Rain restores hope to farmers who had just about given up.

Rain equals life's careful balance at its finest.

I lingered a bit longer, letting the rain soak into my shirt. I welcomed the coldness of precipitation. It caressed my face, depositing gentle and frequent kisses on it like those from a lover long separated from.

"I missed you," I whispered into the rain, "What took you so long to come back to me?"

The rain didn't answer back, just kept kissing me with a gentle intensity. Expecting an answer from the rain always leaves one unfulfilled.

"That's ok, ol' girl, you don't have to explain anything to me," I smiled as I tilted my head skyward to let the rain kiss my neck, "you're always welcome here."

I stood there for few more minutes before I finally permitted myself the privilege of dancing a short jig to celebrate the day rain returned to Texas.