The puddles display the dirt as it mixes to mud in the water that swirls –
Rain drips and drops, the sound quietly blending with the pelting of the other raindrops.
I could smell the rain coming before the clouds opened and let their burdens go . . . The ozone in the air always reminds me of spring – even when the cold air and stinging drips happen in the cold November evening.
I lift my face to the sky and the water rolls down, mixing with my salty tears. The heat from the tears mixes with the cool rain, and then sensation of hot and cold at the same time reminds me that He makes all things new.
The rain continues, increasing in intensity and fervor and the chill sinks down through my clothes and into my bones. I shudder, embracing my arms tighter across my chest. I can feel the muscles in my back straining from the stretch.
The sky is dark, the rain is loud… The cars pass by in a rhythmic dance, the swish of the wipers, and the whoosh of the tires over wet ground, and the splash of the puddles as the tires cut through, sending the water in arcs across to the waiting grass along the sidewalks.
The puddle breaks apart at the contact with the tires, and slowly begins to re-form, little rivers slowly making their way back to home base, only to be disrupted again with the next car that passes.