Rhythm dancing on my face--
Living liquid silver grace--
Dust and time and tears erase.
And then the rain came. When we were so thirsty we had forgotten the sound of rain, its taste and smell, the cold wetness of it.
We would never have dreamed of it in the afternoon, when the dust wafted through us, filling eyes and noses, scouring our pores if a gust of wind came up. When our lips were dry, limbs numb, hearts panting for peace, peace. When we could not run any longer, wrung of every living drop, weary and faint.
Then the rain came. It flowed over us like the tears we had longed for (which would not come). The skies burst forth more furiously for being leashed, lashing us with liquid, pelting us in purity. The clouds broke and emptied. Our crust of bitterness fell away in the face of the unbearable gentleness of each drop.
The dust has settled, the air is cool now. There is a puddle in the yard, perfect for dancing.
Lightning leapt from His fingertips, but His voice was not in the thunder.
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