I fall in love in a moment. Today it was with the rain. After threatening us ominously for several days with tense humidity and inconsistent clouds, today it fell. The air cleared and the whole countryside seemed to take a deep breath. It let itself go, knowing that the mountains held it securely in their stony arms. Not wanting to be left out of the full experience of such a beautiful summer rain, I put on my bathing suit and went down into the courtyard. Opening the old wooden door to the garden and stepping through the ancient stone wall was like entering another world.

The flowers were bobbing their heads in time with the raindrops, the trees were swaying, and the bugs were flying low over the grass like flashes of light. Like sparks. The roses smiled, passionately displaying their pink petals, extending them toward the source of this heavenly rainfall.

I walked down to the creek. The water was a semi-opaque warm gray, except where it sprinted over the rocks, embracing and cooling them, protecting them from the freshly cleared air. Stuck in the streambed, to me they looked encased in glass.

Suddenly I saw a small group of men fishing on the other bank. I'm sure they saw me, but I pretended that they hadn't. I crouched low and gripped the muddy bank. I was a river spirit, peering at them through the prehistoric grasses that had started to invade the garden. After smiling with the river and stalking the unsuspecting interlopers for several minutes, I left the stream to check on the cherries.

It was the last day of the season, and the fruit still clinging to the tree was pulsating with ripe, red, virile energy. The rain slid off tight flesh, leaving streaks behind. The largest bee I had ever seen was drowning herself in a cherry's flesh, her yellow and black armor bright against the carnal purple of the fruit. She had already eaten half and seemed unable to stop herself from digging deeper. I imagined her thrusting fistfuls of fruit into her cheeks. The juice would run down her chest, sticky and sweet.

I smiled and stood back. Rain formed drops on my shoulders and slid down my bare back. It reached the base of my spine and I shivered. La joie pûre. I sat on a white rock in the middle of the garden, next to an overturned and empty broken flowerpot. My mind cleared. My senses grew sharper as my consciousness expanded to encompass the garden, the stream, the trees, the bee overcome by lust. The rain against my back grew colder, and narrow streams of water rolled down my spine. My forehead was almost touching my knees. The back of my neck faced the watery sky. I waited. Lifting my head, I watched the rain fall until the droplets streaked against my pupils like points of light. Like shooting stars.

When enough time had passed, I went back through the garden gate, shutting the latch and bolting it twice. I turned around and faced the quiet courtyard. No carnal cherries here, only docile stalks of lavender and moss-covered stones, slick with precipitation. The bees swarming these delicate flowers were of a different nature. They buzzed about in an orderly fashion, less crazed with dripping purple concupiscence and longing.

I climbed the stairs, listening to my aunt's clarinet music waft out of an open window. Back in my room, I stripped and dried my chilled skin. I put on a warm shirt and sat down to write.