The unlikely place of song

On Tuesday morning, Cheyenne and I set out on our walk beneath gray skies and some low rumbling thunder but I thought surely we'd be back to the house before the rain started. I don't know why I thought that, it's not as if I had any experience or particular education to base my thoughts on, I just guessed, and hoped with my fingers crossed. When we were at the farthest point of our walk, I heard the first drops of rain falling splat on the leaves above our path, heavy drops splatting fat on the expanse of leaves. And then I felt them. Cheyenne did too. She'd take a few steps, stop, look up at me as if to say where's the umbrella you're supposed to be holding over me, and then she'd shake the annoying drops of water from her coat and let out a disappointed sigh that I had rendered the two of us woefully ill equipped. We walked on, the two of us, right to my friend's apartment where Cheyenne was delighted to find her morning turned around, suddenly getting towel dried and offered treaties.

I left Cheyenne there for a morning visit and I carried on in what was now the pouring rain. It was delightful. I picked up my pace into a jog and my footsteps splashed in their own rhythmic pace along the sidewalk. When I turned down my street, I stopped and closed my eyes. All around me I heard the rain. I heard it plopping on the tin roof of the neighbor's house, and I heard it rushing into the gutter. I heard it gurgle down the drain, and bubble along the ditch. I heard it drop and drip and splash and fall all around me as I stood there sopping wet with my eyes closed. And it was a concert to my ears, it was. A magnificent concert!