"Rain is grace; rain is the sky descending to the earth; without rain, there would be no life. "
John Updike

I wake to rain collapsing on the eve, tapping the drainage pipe like a woman's nails frantically dancing on a desk. A blanket of wetness violates the earth. Nothing will be normal today. The freeway will be slick with oil. Commuting accountants dividing the distance by speed. Pursing lips strangle words too - tight to speak. DJ's warn of a second storm wiping Bieber from the news. A city ripe with starlets drowns in the reality of God. The falling sky reminds them of thunderstorms at home. When parents rocked to the clink of iced tea in metal cups. Home.
Los Angeles.
I remember the days when I feared the rain would keep me in at night. And keep me from the pounding clubs and passing trays with spirits to keep me dry.
Los Angeles. The city of angels who rarely learn to fly.
Daylight chisels through the grey collecting beads upon the glass. I watch them race to the window pane and settle into content. My children stir. My husband throws the sheets aside into a drape across the bed. I thank God for dreams I have not lived. Because without them the rain is sweeter than it ever would have been.