I remember it like it was yesterday. The sweet scent of fresh rains filled the air. A warm breeze moved through the tall grasses; oh how they swayed, coming down low and tickling my face before swinging back towards the sky. Frogs and crickets conducted a symphony by the water as it lapped gently against the rocks.
The stars, the tiniest of pin pricks against the deep purple sky, glistened beyond the remaining clouds.
Out there I could be myself. I could relish in the dirt under my nails and my wild hair tangling in the wind. I could hold flitting bugs and slimy lizards as close as possible in hopes that they would tell me their secrets. Perhaps they would tell me what it was to be free.
I could hide in the darkness in my nightgown, listening to the rattle of the gated city behind me and digging my toes into the sticky mud at the shore. I could kiss the frogs in hopes that one would be a savior.
When the sun finally began peeking over the horizon and the sky filled with fiery pinks and oranges I would sigh. Weaving through the tower tunnels and slipping slowly through heavy doors I would cry. As the warmth cleansed the air of the scents of fresh rain I slipped, dirty and none the wiser, into clean sheets.
I had always hoped that the scent of the rain would haunt me and that one day it would reveal to me it’s secrets.
As I stand on the dried shore, the dirt cracking beneath my boots, I realize that haunt me it has but I’m still none the wiser to the secrets of the rain.