Rain

It's raining the kind of rain that has a presence. It blurs the edges of everything and diffuses late afternoon light.
It has its own voice, it's own smell. Its sound is too light to be rich, too strong to be delicate, too familiar  and unique to really be well compared to anything else.It's like the scent of untainted life, if that is not too abstract.
It sheets between my patio and the rest of the world making my papasan chair here an island where work and high heels and need and disappointment and vegetables don't exist.
 It doesn't even touch me and yet I feel renewed. Baptized.
It reminds me that the loveliest things are natural, created by the loveliest Being. That I, at a fundamental level, belong not to the digital clocks or highways or treadmills or preservatives.
I belong with the other created beings who know no other existence than restful worship, and who, should we forget our place for too long, would rise up to fill it with their own voices.

Thank you, Most High and Most Beautiful, for the rain. All my love.