Rain

When I was in high school I loved to sit on the curb outside my house and watch the warm spring rain through the street light's rays. Inside the house, the air was charged with my brother's abusive anger, my father's misplaced guilt, and the fear that our family was falling apart. Outside, I could let that anxiety wash away in the illuminated streams of rain. I'd get up from the curb, where I'd been crying, dejected and discouraged, pull out my arms from across my chest, and spin, swirl, twirl in the grace of God falling upon me.

This picture reminds me of the evening rain that inspired the following poem.