With my desk by the window, I can look at the pale blue evening sky. I can see my reflection in the window.
The rain is falling on the trees in loud spatters.
I go out and dance in the rain, feel cold on my bare feet.
I dance and skip, and open my mouth, and let the rain pour in. Maybe it will fill me, 'til I overflow with feeling and cold wet.
My tongue is so dry. Every cell in my body is reaching for the rain.
I want to fly, to crawl, to swim.
To be a singing frog in the rain, feel it on my delicate skin, seeping in. Croak to the rain in a symphony, be no one but my bug-eyed self.
I want to be a raindrop, falling from a white blanket of sky. I would fall and collapse, like a dancer, like a soufflé, like an exploding supernova, to be one with the earth and the invisible sprouts waiting to be born.
I want to be the driving wind that tastes the rain, caresses the trees, assaults the walls and lonely cars.
I want to be the earthworm wriggling in the dirt, content in my own blind beauty. My pink, slimy body that doesn't know the sky, until it opens up in its glory to wash me up, dead, on sidewalks.
I want to be a leaf, tossed by precipitation, the water cycle that gives me precious green life.
I want to become the lightning that wallops the trees and golf courses with perfect aim and deadly electric beauty.
I want to be the thunder, rolling with such might, that frightens dogs and children, heaven's cannons all firing like airplane engines far above.
I want to become the rain and the wet, become the spring growth and storm destruction. I want to drizzle, pour, shower, soak, drench in my triumph.
I want to be the rain that I see from my desk by the window.