As the rain falls, it carries an element of mercy that is unstrained. The drops are opaque and nontranslucent, almost as if they try hard to cherish and guard some secret that we, as human beings, are completely oblivious to. Yes, we are living in a world of oblivion. Yet, strangely these drops also carry a sense of clarity. They are crystals, luminous on their path from the Heavens to our pitiful and dependent Earth. They harvest our world with life and keep us from a devastating drought of despair…



The weatherman had augured rain once more like a god declaring some sort of punishment or wrath to be placed upon society. The rain. It’s a burden these days. All it is good for is destroying our new Uggs by getting them wet. God forbid that were ever to happen! As I wake up, I imagine just how many hundreds of thousands of people are getting together their umbrellas, raincoats, and boots. Or worse, staying indoors behind the certainty and salvation of their TVs. As if the crystals were acid rain in which they would all burn and die.

Where is my umbrella? I left it here in the closet somewhere. Oh, there it is. Lying there awaiting for the day it can perform ablution over my head. Of course I have not felt the serenity of a ritual cleansing in years. No, those days are surely over. As I step out, under the guardianship of my umbrella, memories hound and madden me. And out of nowhere appear ghosts. Ghosts of little children. Their spirits run around slipping and sliding everywhere. They seem happy? Yes! Yes! They are enjoying. They are absorbing in the crystals, taking them in and you can see these precious minerals shine on their faces and bodies! These aren’t ghosts. These beings are surely angels, descendents of Heaven. The tranquility and composure on their faces are tantalizing. These angels are teasing me. Laughing because I possess nothing of the likes of their shining faces anymore. I hadn’t danced in the rain in what seems like millenniums. Wasn’t there a time I played in the rain? Barefoot, making mud pies, and jumping in puddles? There is a faint memory of such an occasion but I can barely make it out.

As I continue along on the sidewalk, avoiding the random oceans of water I am faced with from time to time, I notice the silence. Besides the rumbling of beads of water hitting our land, there is nothing. There is no one here to make any sort of commotion. I am desolate and detached from everything. The whole world is for me and me alone. I’m its only dweller. Just me and my umbrella which is still holding true and protecting me from the rain. I take in the scent of the atmosphere. Earthy, it seems. So natural and fresh. And oddly, those memories start to rekindle. More clearer now. And like a broken bone, they are growing back stronger.

My eyes are fixed on a puddle. One of earth’s natural mirrors. And although the puddle is sort of blurry and unclear, I know that can’t be me in there. This figure, a girl it seems, is too tiny to be me. Too short. She is but a child! A little girl who carries some sort of resemblance of me. She has similar eyes, except her eyes are filled with innocence and joy. And her lips too, they are the same except hers are stretched out into the biggest smile I have ever seen in my entire being. Her face is calmer. Relaxed. She carries with her, Gentleness and Placidity. And this girl hasn’t a care in the world. Look at her dress! It’s soaked! She is ruining her clothes! Why is she even outside? Where’s her umbrella? She will catch a cold! So many thoughts tumbling around in my head, questioning her reasons for coming out. Cynical towards her getting wet. But deep down in my chest, my heart knew that this was just a form a denial. Deep down, I yearned to be that girl. I wished to have her eyes. Her joy. Her smile. Her innocence. And most of all, her air of peace she carried around with her.




A car passes by, and that deep focus is cut off. The reflection of the little girl is no longer in the mirror. She has probably run off to play with her small yet close group of friends. Together they splash in the puddles. They dance around and jump on the trampoline that lies in the little girl’s backyard that is enclosed with a fence. But I can’t leave them! I want to examine their angelic ways. I continue to observe, on my tippy toes now, trying to see over the fence. Like a scientist, recording observations on everything I notice is happening. They are having fun. What is it with the rain that makes everything so much more enjoyable for them? Certainly they can do the same things in the sun. Rain isn’t an essential to dance and jump on a trampoline! Why then is there a different, more pleasurable joy for them when they are in the rain? And why do I not feel this joy? I want in on the happiness. I want to experience this sensation of carelessness and purity. I want to feel that peace. But that’s the problem isn’t it? I have forgotten how to feel this harmony. It doesn’t exist for me anymore. I lost it on my way to becoming one of the more miserable and disturbed demons that live in the drought of despair. The rain is just rain for them. They cannot feel it therefore their lives continue to be barren and dead. They don’t want to feel it. It hurts them. Almost as if they are all devils being hit by holy water. This joy the angels have is nonexistent for them. And they truly have no idea what they are missing out on. The repining in their hearts would surely end if only they knew…



One Two. One Two. Two steps per block of cement. And never step on crack! That’s my method of walking on a sidewalk. I continue down strolling and my arm begins to ache from holding the umbrella. I want to put it down. Just for two minutes. But I keep holding it up. I keep moving on. I imagine what that one girl is up to now. Probably finishing up making mud pies in a hole she and her friends have dug up somewhere. I can almost see it. The twinkles in their eyes take away from the mud under their fingernails. And gosh how they all are glistening! They are radiant and much too precious to belong to the same species as the rest of the world. Their laughter is like chimes, replenishing the air with all different, melodious notes that have only been heard of in the past. I envy them. Especially that one girl. The one that looks similar to me but more blissful in the luminous shards of crystalline gems. What is it about her that connects me to a forgotten splendor that is rich and overflowing with accounts of festivity and liveliness? Through her they are revived, those memories that were once lost. Yes, those several chunks of memoirs are now one big reflection of the times of yore. Those times were my times. That girl was me. Her peace was mine. Her innocence was mine. Her purity was mine. And it’s all gone.

I feel a drop of rain fall on my face. My first instinct was to wipe it off. But I let it stay realizing it feels kind of nice. Cool and fresh. It gives a sense of cleanliness and purity. The umbrella drops from my hand and I take off my shoes for a moment. I face the sky, embracing all that is heading towards me. Embracing the mercy and sudden pureness that is being bestowed upon me. Another mirror lies on the sidewalk. I look into it hoping to see the girl once again. I want to play with her in the rain. Only this time, her presence is nowhere to be found. Instead, I see myself. But I am different. The features of joy and innocence that were in the girl are now in me. I have captured those essences from her. The little girl seems to have possessed me. Or maybe she died and I live on as her reincarnation. But, whatever the reason may be, she serves as a reminder that these incandescent drops that shed from the tear ducts of the ones who never took advantage of this asset, hold the key of life. Though so simple and primitive, the greatness of this one element is not comprehensible to mankind. In today’s time especially, we will never fully understand the true blessings of rain. For the peace that is found in playing in the rain, will never be existent in worldly and superficial beings.