The first drops fall with a plop onto the cold pavement, starting the torrential downpour. The gutters start to fill with street sludge gathered from years of cars traveling to their destinations on the old black top. Running, it splashes on my jeans and I enjoy the sense of protection the dark rain clouds give, like their surrounding my town with a gray cover from all the stress and harm in the world. As I watch everyone else bustling for cover in their cracker box houses, I take full advantage of what these sporadic April showers give me—the freedom to fill my lungs with the fresh rain scent while I run for all I am worth on the soaked concrete. I feel the water drip from my hair. I lean my head back, opening my mouth wide, letting the cool liquid flow down my throat. As I fling my arms out, I spin slowly; giving my body to the storm, letting the thunder claps take my heart to its own beat, and the rain drench my skin. While the lightning slowly disrupts my vision so all I see is zigzags of electric flashes for minutes, I remember reality. I trudge home waiting in anticipation for the next April shower.
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