It’s an unmistakable sound, a cross between sticks clattering together and overly excited feet flapping against concrete, and I rarely get to enjoy it.  Enjoy it I do, though.  For it brings with it memories of warm summer nights huddled beneath the overhang of the open garage, lightning bursting in the distance, rollerblading against my better judgement on slippery sidewalks nestled between groves on my college campus, and the feeling of cold sand between my toes as I played volleyball with the capturer of my heart, she who would be Queen.

I could sit for hours on end and just listen to the rain, and I have done exactly that when offered the chance.  I hear the first smattering and clattering of drops and my heart sours while the best of my memories flood my thoughts.  I close my eyes and see the flashes of blinding light bouncing off the slick desert floor, with the dark looming backdrop of the mountains.  My cheeks flush from the rush of wind and stinging droplets crashing against my face as I defy logic and sanity to zip along the debris ridden walkways.  My lips smile and release a laugh as I dive for a wayward ball, wet clumps of beach sand kicking up and tangling with my hands, my legs, my hair.  Honestly, who plays volleyball in the rain?

Honestly, who doesn’t play volleyball in the rain?  Who doesn’t go rollerblading or running or walking in a tempest?  Who doesn’t sit and watch thunderstorms march slowly across the horizon?  Who doesn’t splash in puddles?  Who doesn’t wake with a smile in the middle of the night as drops start pinging against their windows?  Who doesn’t look at the forecast every week hoping to see that this is the week, this one right here, where we are finally going to get some weather to be excited about?  Who doesn’t love rain?  Who?

Ah, rain.  Sweet, cooling, wonderful restorative mana from the heavens, how I love your song.  You are a symphony of sounds, a chorus of voices, a speaker of tongues.  You play and my heart and soul listen.  In Mr. Brown Can Moo, Dr. Seuss corrals the sounds as “dibble dibble dop, dibble dibble dop dop dop,” and who am I to argue with him.

little feet, silly truths


The puddle swallowed his little feet, and then exploded away as his next step was taken in earnest.  The splashing wasn’t intentional but the running was.  He was always running.  Running from one end of the house to the other.  Running down the alley behind our condo.  Running from the store to the car.  Running in the rain where he encountered pools of the heaven’s manna waiting patiently for him.

Then, of course, it was no longer about running, at least for a few minutes.  Water gushed and spouted and pulled away from him by the combined forces of pressure and momentum.  He didn’t care about the science of why jumping in the puddle caused the water to spray out in halos and arcs.  He only cared that it happened and that he was in control.  There are so few things in a toddler’s life they can control, he latched on to this new game, this new experience, with all of his might and enthusiasm.

Eyes wide with glee and mouth full of joyful shrieks and exclamations, time thinned while the toddler explored the cause and effect of his discovery.  One foot at a time.  Both feet together.  Running through.  Walking through.  Stopping in the middle.  Jumping into the middle.  Jumping on the edge.  Twirling around.  Behind those shimmering pupils, I could see his mind capturing it all and storing it away for further contemplation later when he would have time because he was no longer fully engrossed in the here and now.  And, of course, I laughed along with him, joined my voice with his in a chorus of giggles and guffaws.  The laugh of a child would always be the paramount of compulsory contagions.

Clothes, unprepared for the onslaught, were drenched in no time.  After a while, equal amounts of water dripped from dangling sleeves and bent knees as was sent cascading around him with each new foray into the puddle.  The wetness would eventually be the cause of the game’s end, in the forms of coldness and discomfort, but until then the grin would never waver on his eager face.  Just as I couldn’t help but join him in laughter, he was powerless to resist the demanding call of adventure.

Even if he could have, why would he have wanted to?  Children are built to learn and discover through such bouts of messy frivolity.  They know this simple truth in their bones.


This post was written for Lizzi.  I accepted the challenge to write beautifully without pouring my blood across the page, sharing something worth sharing, worth reading, that wasn’t about pain or loss.  As she says in her posts, which you really should read, those types of words are compelling and worth reading, but we should also remember to share our happy moments and our silly truths from time to time as well.

slip off the edge of the world

They sparkle in the intermittent rushing lights, shining like a million fires before being swallowed over and over by the darkness.  And then the lights spread across them again, as they had countless times before, but rather than standing still to absorb and reflect, they surge forward in dance.  The pressure was more than they could withstand and, once freed from their moors, they speed in all directions to slip off the edges of their world.  They weren’t falling and their existence wasn’t ending.  Their purpose, their path, is shooting from one life to another.

Once they have been swallowed by nothingness, they are no less dazzling in their beauty and significance; they have just passed beyond the sight of this world so they can be enjoyed by others.

Image Credit: Kenneth Brandon

It is both humbling and awe inspiring to realize how many worlds are constantly spinning around us, just out of our view and understanding.  We stand in the middle of a raging storm of possibilities swallowing our missed opportunities and scorned decisions.  We stand under a bright sun of endless warming hope for all the things we can become.  We are alone, tired, and scared.  We are constantly uplifted in embraces by all the selves we’ve ever been and ever could be.

The water droplets, the morning’s dew, continue to flash erratically on my windshield like the stars above, collecting the light of oncoming traffic and sending it spiraling into the unseen worlds that surround my journey into the day.

Image Credit: Sami Sarkis

playful and haunting

A symphony plays across the heavens, at times beautiful, at times tragic.  Tears of sadness and joy fall unchecked to soak into the listening earth.  The audience is so enthralled they don’t mind or even notice.

The notes rise and fall, intertwined, and caressing those lucky enough to witness the masterpiece.  The bass sweeps over the land in waves of pressure.  The treble dances along, playful and haunting.  The clefs work together and against each other producing a cacophony of discordant and harmonious tones.

As the end nears, the music reaches a deafening crescendo, forcing the world to pay attention, humbling those closest to the orchestra.  The fierce instruments roar with life and death.  The drenched land trembles and then throws its arms wide in jubilation as the final note fades to the horizon.

Silence follows, thick and heavy, crushing the world under its weight.

Then lightning flashes trying to forever capture the final moments of the performance and thunder claps with exuberance, demanding an encore that will never come.


Not sure what to say about this one.  I saw the Inspiration Monday prompt and this is what came to me when I placed my fingers on the keyboard.  What are you inspired to write with the below prompts?

Inspiration Monday logo

The Rules

There are none. Read the prompts, get inspired, write something. No word count minimum or maximum. You don’t have to include the exact prompt in your piece, and you can interpret the prompt(s) any way you like.


No really; I need rules!

Okay; write 200-500 words on the prompt of your choice. You may either use the prompt as the title of your piece or work it into the body of your piece. You must complete it before 6 pm CST on the Monday following this post.

The Prompts:






rain delay

Rain, rain, here to stay,
Pouring down all live long day.


It’s raining, it’s pouring, Matticus is boring,
The same sad song, the words are gone,
The muse is off and snoring.


Are you not entertained?


You want more than rewritten silliness about rain and stolen movie quotes?

But, it’s Friday and my brain is mush…  Please have mercy on me.

Okay, okay, how about this:

The mighty wizard peered through the stained glass, glowering at the rivulets that cascaded down the colored surface.  He’d had such hopes for the day, but the storm had thwarted all of his plans.  Adverting his gaze to the mug of tea grasped in his hands, enjoying the puff of steam that rose from the liquid and swirled with the currents in his room, he calmed his raging mind.

He could easily cast spells that would disrupt the clouds and send them on their way, but that magic would leave him too weak to carry out the other sorcery he had in mind.  No, he must be patient and wait out the rain and wind.  The storm would pass, and then he would have his day.

Blowing over the top of his mug, sending the steam pouring over the opposite rim to disappear beyond the edge as it was reclaimed by the air, he took a sip and then went to his seat by the fire.  It crackled and popped in greeting and he let time slip with his eyes lost in the dance of the coals.

The storm continued unabated long into the evening, well beyond any time he might have been able to salvage his objective, but he went to sleep that night lulled into dreams by the percussive dibble dops of rain playing on his roof and the sense of overwhelming triumph he would now on the morrow.  The storm had merely delayed the inevitable.  The world would still be his.


There.  Satisfied?  Can I go enjoy my weather now?

I love the rain.  I like everything about it.  The cleansing feeling of walking through it.  The way it wipes the world clean.  The sustenance it provides the living things of the world.  It is definitely my favorite weather.  And you?  Love it?  Hate it?  What is your favorite type of weather?