rain

its the first rain of the season. can you smell it? can you hear the pitter patter of the drops on your back porch? can you see the clouds rolling and hear them echo off the ground? does the gray fill your eyes, having the reverse effect of a solar eclipse, where you can't help but stare mercilessly into their gaping forms, surrendering yourself to their power? it makes you long for that memory. the one that you can't push aside as you stand in the street with your arms outstretched, your head tilted towards the heavens. your eyes bat fiercly as the rain washes over your face, and that memory becomes clearer and clearer, as if the rain were cleaning it, washing away the fog of time, so that you're left with nothing but this image of beauty culminated in your mind. the world is beautiful.