Rain Dance

Have you ever looked deep into a moment, a memory?

     I remember a cold morning, wrapped in grey while the sleepy sun brushed across my dirt-dyed face. From the bushes I watched the angry skies of silver and black swirl together in anticipation of a storm. He danced around the schoolyard, hands over head with fingers spread. Droplets of water jumped at his ankles as he skipped through the grass. A few yards off the sun hit a tin roof sending waves of light through his hair and on to the damp ground. The deep brown gravel gleamed in all directions. The light tickled my nose, a sneeze escaping. His eyes found mine, stopping in mid leap to allow a blessing from God.

 

     He held his hands out to me. I picked myself up and placed my mittened hand in his. Where the wool had worn thin, he rubbed his fingers across mine. With a tug, we were dancing together in the grass while short bursts of laughs filled the space around us. The droplets joined in, circling around us, seeping into our socks to become us. The waves of light blured the skies, creating a complex smear of yellows, golds and lightened browns.

 

     We fell backs down to the ground. Our chests were chilled as they rose and fell in similar, quick fashions. Shades of pink tickled their way across our faces, while our lips cracked from too-big grins. Our fingers played a game of hopscotch across each other's arm, the warmth lingering after each hop. Our feet rested against one another, tired from the desperate dancing. We lay there together, the grass holding us as we stared above at the falling drops of silver and grey.

 

                         The storm had arrived.