Talking Rain

The sky is dark, the clouds are heavy with rain that is falling in fat drops. The rain is beautiful, and that is the reason I’m standing outside in this storm wearing nothing but a tank top and pajama pants. My hair is dripping, my clothes are plastered to my skin, and I’m soaking wet. But the rain…
Every time it rains, I have to run out and stand in it, dance in it. As long as I’m quiet. Because if I’m quiet, I can hear the rain talk, and it tells me things. Sometimes it’s a story, or a joke, or a song, or a secret. It all depends on the rain.
Tonight the rain is telling me a story. It’s a lovely story, full of romance and intrigue and despair. I always forget the story after the rain finishes, but I’m never disappointed. It’s lovely while it lasts. Goosebumps shiver along my skin, but I don’t notice. My heartbeat is sluggish and my bare feet and arms begin to numb. I don’t even know how long I’ve been standing out here, only that the instant rain began to fall, I climbed out of bed and out my window into the yard.
The grass is waterlogged, and pools form when I shift my feet because the tingling in my sleeping leg is distracting me from the story. I resigned myself long ago to the fact that the rain never says the same thing twice, so I don’t want to miss anything. By the time the story is over, the sun is rising and the rain has stopped. I climb back through my window, change into dry clothes and crawl into bed.
I’m glad there’s no school today.

Talking Rain

REWhite

Spokane, United States

  • Artist
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Artist's Description

Inspired by a water bottle, crazy as that sounds. Does the rain speak to you?

desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait
desktop tablet-landscape content-width tablet-portrait workstream-4-across phone-landscape phone-portrait

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