Summer Night Rain

The rain started right before midnight, with a soft, somewhat tentative thunder announcing it from afar, almost as if it was asking itself whether or not it had the right time.

I listened to it for a while, reliving a memory. The sounds, the scents of rain, removed from sight, speak to the soul in the same way your favorite old sweater comforts you, without you even being aware of it, that sweater you can grab from the closet without looking.

I lingered for a moment before I let the footfalls of the rain sink into my consciousness, only half recognizing my old friend, the repository of memories.

Favorite sounds from childhood rapped their little fingers on the roof, softly and evenly, for hours, until all the noises subsided and the world eased into a peaceful slumber.

I don't know when the rain stopped, but it must have been quite close to dawn, because the hosta flowers were still heavy with raindrops in the morning.

The summer garden sprung back to life immediately, its foliage more vibrant after being washed clean and getting its water reserves replenished.