Strength

Deep rumbles of thunder tear across the flat gray sky before burying themselves into the foundations of the house. Rain begins its determined assault against the windows, splattering and pattering with an insistence that cannot be ignored. I follow the siren's call and gaze out at the storm raging outside.

And then I am blinded. The sun pierces the clouds and all becomes unbearably bright, raindrops transformed into drops of iridescence against the glass. Through pained eyes I see shards of sunlight fall and form auras around trees and grass. The shards fall harder even as, by force of sheer will, the sun burns away the gloom. Clouds part, and suddenly all is blue. And wet. And the rain no longer falls on the west side of the house, but on the east instead in a slow, steady march. It cannot bear the face of the sun for long.

How strange. I can actually hear the storm moving off into the distance. How strange, that it was here at all, I think, as I turn back to gaze at the sky.

It seems impossible. But the glistening moisture saturating the land says otherwise. And I'm reminded that being caught in the rain is always more bearable, even joyous, when blue skies and the sun are present.