The first burst of rain is a little bit shocking, like a naked lady jumping out of a cake: you knew it was coming, but you weren't exactly prepared for the assault. The raindrops are fat and heavy, not landing, but splashing. They pound in formation against the windows and walls. You stop stirring a bowl of banana bread batter at the kitchen counter and flip your face to the outside, mouth hanging open. It sounds like somebody has tossed a handful of muddy pebbles at your house.
A gust of wind hammers the raindrops, then, and you think, this isn't supposed to be severe, is it? But before you can get your anxiety worked up into a tizzy, everything softens. The rain thins down into a steady shower. The wind pulls back.
It was only the sudden change in pressure that allowed the rain to finally be released. It was only the start of something. It was only the clouds kissing the earth.
Linking up today with Communal Global and their Tuesday globetrotters...