Rainy Days and Hazy Gazes

When the darkening sky arches over the infinite fields sloping down to embrace the face of the globe in a golden, rain-drenched blanket the world quiets, just a little, to savor the symphony of drums. The pattering, and the roar, each movement in the sonata ebbing and flowing. It builds. Your hands clasp mine, drenched in the warm summer rain. The stalks and flowers sway in time. The clash of thunder like nature's strongest cymbals initiates the dance. We twirl like the grass in the tremendous winds. The water drips down your face, tracing your cheekbones. The music begins its descent into the outro. A misty spray descends and the sky peels back its layers of heavy gray to reveal hues of pink and orange. The dying sun casts one final glance at the sky, refracting through the billions of droplets suspended in the heavens. A bright line of colors streaks through the skies, and I catch your bronzed eyes staring into mine. The concert is over, but the dancing has only begun.