It was magical, the plain and simple kind of magic. The kind a quiet evening can bestow. Just sitting there, tea in hand, cat beside, and the sky dripping a soft, steady drip. The light dripping grew faster for a moment, then subsided once more. A few seconds later, the fresh scent of mint wafted on the breeze, with that wonderful wet earth smell hard on its heels. Both were swallowed up as the rain again fell harder. Ebbing and flowing, the sound was nature's lullaby. Small bits of thunder and lightning would make their presence known here and there, but not enough to frighten.
Watching the rain splash upon the pavement was almost like watching a dance. A waltz turning into a swing, a quick spin out to be next met with a moment of quiet intimacy. The dancers spinning and swirling again, movement everywhere, building to a crescendo. At its peek, the dancers slow to a loving waltz again, catching their breath, enjoying each other's company.
It was an invitation to join the dance; I nearly did, but my unfinished mug held me back. The wind accepted the invitation, however, adding to the dance its orchestra music. Excited by this new development, the dancers quickened their pace. All thought of a quiet waltz was abandoned, as the the speed was ever increased.
Soon it was no longer a dance but a wild frenzy. The sight before me looked very much like our own personal Midwestern hurricane had come to spoil the dance. Thunder and lightning crashed and cracked, louder and more frequent than it had been before.
That, and my now-empty mug of tea, were my cues to go back inside, and off the front porch. The cat stayed where he was, and presently the rain stopped. The orchestra ceased their playing, and the dancers all went home. As the darkness of night fell upon their stage, they promised to come and dance again.
