The Magic of Summer Rains

I believe in the magic of summer rains.

When the clouds come rolling in, chasing each other in a dance across the sky, I do not seek shelter. I walk out into the night, shivering both from the wind and the anticipation of the drops that will soon fall from the sky. I raise my head and open my mouth in invitation. 

The winds wrap around me, whispering silkily against my skin. A foreplay of what is to come. I dance a dance that is not new to my people, a dance inside my very DNA. My ancestors’ feet have pounded the same Earth in expectant urgency of the sustenance that is to come.

The first drops fall upon my face and neck and I feel my skin absorb the droplets as though quenching my inner thirst by osmosis.  As the rain quickens, I raise my hands to the sky and am rewarded with a blast of light from the heavens above. I spin, hands aloft, as the ground shakes beneath my feet beckoning my feet to quicken its dance.

I am drenched. My clothing stuck to me in sticky layers. There are puddles now beneath my bare feet, which splash and sing with every footfall.  The Earth is saturated and cannot take on anymore; the puddles are rising with every drop.

The drops fly from up above and shake up from down below. The entire world now teeming with condensation and I am unsure if it is all coming from the clouds above or if the Earth below is now joining in the dance and sending its precious moisture up into the sky.

I spin as the Earth shakes with release with each great boom of Thunder and the sky sings a song of relief as the winds whisper around me.

I remember what has oft been forgotten: I cannot separate myself from the spinning orb at my feet. We are one.