The Pouring-Down Rain

She dashed out her front door, across her porch and down the steps into the cold pouring-down rain. Having heard the roar of it on her metal roof, she got the idea: rain washes everything away. So, she’d run to it, to the glorious prospect of being cleansed of everything: of today, of yesterday. Of all the nights she’d cried herself to sleep, wishing on unreachable stars, hoping impossible hopes.

Now she stood there, in the rain, as it ran over her exposed skin, soaked through her clothes, and chilled her to the bone. And she cried, cried powerfully. Her tears could not be told apart from the droplets of pouring-down rain. No one would have known she was crying, because her face held only a smile, as the tilted her face up, eyes closed to the dark sky.

Just as the chill began to reach her soul, and just as she’d begun shivering, the rain suddenly stopped. The clouds parted as a gentle breeze began to blow the heavy damp tendrils of her hair. She opened her eyes, disappointed that the rain had ceased. She opened her eyes to find the moon, the almost fulness of it.

She looked around for clouds that had darkened the night just moments before. But she found none. Only the many stars that shined bright in the cloudless night sky. And there was that moon, only the moon.