Drip. Drop. What is that tickle on my numb, unfeeling arm? Rain?

It hasn’t rained in two weeks. I pick the day it rains to run away from it all? How cruel of fate! I should be used to that…

Then, I look over at a sad-looking little flower. Wilted, almost dried, barely hanging on. Waiting, hoping for the rain. One more day and she might’ve welcomed the sun’s wrath. Might’ve succumbed. But the water falls.

Thunder rumbles angrily. Menacing clouds, blocking out the cheerful sun, but presenting such life-giving good. All the hate grumbles and crashes with the storm, but the much-needed water falls.

My own tears fall along with the rain. A wave of understanding washes upon me like the torrential downpour. I nod, hiding my face, suspended between a laugh and a sob.

Rain seeps into the earth, bringing life and renewal. But it comes from the thunderhead…the volatile, dangerous, wrathful clouds.

The clouds have to roll in before the rain can fall. My rain will come. It must.