To Recreate the Rain

There was this moment and I turned off the sound to hear. The rain was coming down. The lights expanded and bled on the liquid carpet and everything slowed. The wipers were rhythmic and the water drops echoed abstract symphonic courses. I was drenched and yet dry. Atmosphere exploded and thickened only vaguely sated by leaking. Darkness was full of water that held a clarity and life. A relationship. H2O.

It was obvious the sky would burst. The blazing roar and prologue of the setting sun bathed in viscous colors of uncontrolled vibrancy had become browed by drab sheets of cloud, which only heightened intensity as it sifted a veil of mystery over the extravagance. Texture tattooed vision. The covering billowed and rose, the night began it's tide. A rain drop fell.

The earth drank and puddled like a gluttonous king strewn drunk across his banqueting table. Surfaces slicked and every movement splashed. The air was drown, and singing allowed. The torrents were untame, uncivil, and glorious. The vibration of the mood, the mellow soothe, the taste and aroma; my soul knew it was alive. We all were alive.