It rained last night.
I’d almost forgotten the sound that raindrops make when they hit my window. That quiet, irregular patter that slows and speeds up with the changes in the wind. I couldn’t sleep because of the sound. I didn’t want to sleep. The rain was welcome after the muffled cold of winter.
I wanted to go outside, to dance, to feel the pinpricks of water hitting my skin, to wake up after this hibernation. The rain would have washed away my sadness and my fears. The rain would bring spring to my mind, even if the ground outside remains frozen for another few months.
I stayed inside though. I remembered another rainstorm, where the lightning flashed over and over again, almost keeping the sky continuously bright, and the rain fell from the sky in a continuous sheet, pounding against the ground. I didn’t go outside then, either. I wish I had.
There’s something so perfect about rainfall at night. Almost magical, but not smoke and mirrors magic. Rain wakes up the earth. It brings change. It melts the snow and turns the hard earth into rich, dark mud. The orange light of street lamps reflects off of the wet ground, shining and clean.
I fell asleep to the sounds of change. I dreamed along to the pitter-patter of falling water.
I woke with a smile on my face.