(Written by my character M, which makes it legally mine...)
--Written to the tune of The Cult's "Rain"...
The cold gel-like sensation of the drops as they fall and disperse on my skin is indescribable, but I must endeavor to improve my vocabulary, as all who spoke first not-English. This chill and wet—a sensation I can feel, and experience, and yes, even play in.
The dusty earth cracks when parched and deprived of healing waters. The foot leaves no mark on the impressionless soil. The packed dirt. The dead earth. No vegetation grows well. Nothing moves in the stifling desert. Every creature flees and cowers under rocks and sparse, bent trees in pittance of shade.
The sky frowns, and cracks with distant rumbles and whispers of moisture.
I am there if it is dark. Lightening fingers out along the underside of the clouds, and the ceiling hangs low, almost to where one can reach up and touch and feel the dense fog they are made of.
The rain is timid at first, but gains courage and soon is as coins fall from heaven, battering the packed earth, seeping through the dusty layers to reach and fill roots that have lain in wait. They wait for the water. The rain.
I stand with my head tipped back and arms outstretched to invite the downfall. To feel the icy droplets pelt my flesh and soak my hair. My clothes grow heavy and stick to me as I am saturated. I am a tree here too, opening to this welcome gift from the skies. The heat has fled.
The air stirs cooler, freer, cleaner.
The ground sags beneath my feet. The dirt gives way and newborn creeks rage through improvised arteries to fill the dead riverbeds. The cracks fill and seal and the water begins to flow toward the sea, to give back what was given; to ensure this will happen: again and again.
A heart of mud, rock, and water. I invite it. I roll in the new mud, letting the frigid muck permeate my senses and coat me with life.