The Sudden Rain

It begins with a change in the wind—subtle, but sure. The leaves shift tone, a hush rolls through the streets, and then the first drop strikes my forehead like a cool fingerprint. I look up and smile as the sky opens wide.

I run for shelter beneath a stone archway at the edge of a quiet plaza. Across from me, others gather: an old man with an umbrella, a couple pressing close, a boy with a paper boat in his hands.

Then she appears—barefoot, laughing—a girl no older than ten, stepping out into the middle of the square. She spins, arms flung wide, the rain soaking her hair and dress. Her joy is unshaken by the cold.

A dog barks from somewhere, and thunder answers in the distance.

“Come in!” the old man calls.

But she doesn’t. And neither do I.

I walk out into the downpour, slowly, arms lifted just slightly. The rain is warm, more like a balm than a chill. In moments, I am drenched—but in another sense, I am clean.

Moments like this remind me: not everything is meant to be avoided. Some things are meant to be felt fully.