Sitting on my deck as the rain pours down around me, I am a part of everything. The lightning is mine, visible when I'm not looking. Thunder, a predictable comfort, persists in being heard, even by those without ears to listen.
I watch the new drops as they violently displace the old, forming bodies on the asphalt.
The air around becomes a cloud, the world a blur of colorless vitality.
Dampness fills my nostrils. Sweet, musty dew clings within until I can longer distinguish my body from my surroundings.
My bare toes lightly pummeled by rogue droplets become part of the inconsistent patter. Not a rhythm, but a melody, the notes floating here and there as the rain beats fast. Then slow. Fast. Then faster...
A spicy aroma mixes with the damp as the tea in my hand loses its heat. Quiet tones from my melancholy stereo merge with the full orchestra of the water falling from nowhere; a perfect harmony.
Looking up from the book in my lap with the dog eared pages and care worn cover, I close my eyes and breathe deeply, sighing over my encounter with perfection.
Fall is here.
