The air is cold, but I open my window. I want to hear the rain. Endless sheets cascade. Whooshes rise and fall, rise and fall. My drapes are breathing. Crinkled gray crepe paper. They suck against the window. Billow into my room. Suck against the window. One side of the curtain hovers over my bed. Hauntingly beautiful.
We danced in the rain last night. We peered from our doorway. Ran laughing across the parking lot. Jumped and stomped in puddles like children. Kicked fountains of water at each other. Stood drenched in the downpour.
Yesterday the rain was invigorating. A game. Tonight, it is a song. The music sounds a certain octave on the skylight above the landing. It is different out the window. Water spatters on wooden porches, slaps the concrete drive. It holds a steady mezzo forte. Crescendos to fortissimo. Descends again.
The rain song washes over me. I need to sleep. Want to go on listening. A ceaseless wet night sky. If I lay here, it might lull me. Rock-a-bye rainstorm.