I stand outside in the beginnings of a thunderstorm, where the rain falls so hard I think at first it is hailing. I hesitate momentarily underneath the aluminum awning, as if getting wet is something to be afraid of. Then I am out in the midst of it, pummeled by drops of water so sharp and heavy they are like little bullets pinging against my skin. I move farther out and look up into the night sky, brilliant with streaks of lightening every few seconds, like roots or veins illuminated with injected dye, florescent yellow against a sea of black. The thunder cracks, a loud smacking sound, palm against flesh, paddle against boat, wood into wood. I raise my arms over my head and open them wide as a golden bolt of fire shoots down and sideways into my yard. “Take me,” I whisper, then louder, then louder still, until I am screaming, shrieking into the storm. “Take me!” But it does not comply, my plea is denied, ignored, dismissed… As I crumble to the ground I am soaked to the skin, not an inch of my body is dry, not an atom of my soul is not saturated. I place shaking hands to my face and raise it heavenward, my fingers dripping salty liquid, and I do not know where the tears end and the rain begins.