The sky blazed blue for five frenetic days, and I skipped and spun and sang in the sun. I soaked my skin in sunshine. Every ray injected light into my body, photons bouncing around inside my skin. Inside I was glowing and burning.
And now the rain has returned. Clouds cover the sky, softening the inconceivable void to a quiet blanket. The mist collects in diamond drops. They hang on the slender branches of winter-bare trees, and on the white petals of the hopeful spring blossoms. The light lands on them, silver.
And the mist brushes my face, like soothing whispers.
Shh. Listen to the rain.
The gathered droplets slide down dampened tree-skin, they run clattering down the drainpipes and dance on the rooftops, they leap to the ground. Finally they convene in puddles, where the air currents caress them. The puddle-skin shimmers and shivers. Branches and clouds stare up from its face. In the eye of the puddle, the whole world rests.