Night Rain

I opened the kitchen door tonight to a driveway glistening with rain, and the occasional "tap" of a raindrop falling from the sky. It wasn't heavy enough to worry about, so Jake and I pushed through the door for his evening walk, me forgetting a jacket and flashlight.

When we hit the end of my driveway, the rain started falling with more conviction. I paused and looked at the sky. The nearest street light has been out for months, and tonight I was grateful for its absence, as the relative lack of light pollution helped me see what was happening overhead.

Directly above, the ragged trailing edge of a mass of light gray clouds was pressing east, leaving behind a sky empty but for the stars. It seemed as if the rain falling on my face came not from the clouds, but from that nearly empty sky.

We kept walking, following our usual path to the corner and all the way down that street. A few years years back, three wooded acres (an overgrown former fruit tree grove) that stood at this street's end yielded to progress. The trees have been replaced by a small house, a second, empty building lot, and an unlit cul-de-sac -- the space Juli learned to ride in, that I crashed the Columbia in, and in which Ava will further hone her skills on a bike.

By the time we got there, the clouds had passed further east -- still visible, but well past us. The rain had nearly ended, but I could still feel the smallest of drops on my face when I looked up. Random cool sparks, gone as soon as they were felt.

Jake took his time. But in that lingering I found nothing at all to mind.

All for now,

J