Rain.

Sometimes I'm happy to slide in a movie and wander into an English village from times past. Others I'll turn the lights down a bit and read with a large cup of tea beside me. On rare occasions, I'll sit out on the porch to listen and watch. This evening, however, was different. Today I had to be there, outside, in the rain.

I felt a thirst for the wet. No glass of water could quench it; not even a shower could fulfill that desire. I needed the rain. The soft pitter-patter. The beauty.

I ran about the yard, scrambled up a tree, and splashed in the small pools. I bruised my foot upon a root, but I kept on running. The water and wind chilled my body, but I kept searching for the wettest spots. All the while, I listened to that natural symphony, loud enough to drown out the traffic, but soft enough to lull my heart into quietude.

I watched the pearly sky turn to silver and then lead. Somewhere the sun, cloaked behind the thick blanket of clouds, was setting. The lightning I had formerly ignored grew in ferocity. The kettle drums of the storm boomed louder. Light knocks on the window reminded me of my promise to play a game with my little sisters. Slightly reluctant but thoroughly pleased, I ventured back to the house, my dress soaked, my hair awry, my soul nurtured.