In which I take my first rainy run of the springtime
as soon as I heard the thunder, my hand reached
for my running shoes
almost like an involuntary tic.
It comes from years of monsoon craziness
from my childhood,
where my dad, my brother and I would sprint outside
at the first muted rumble,
God inviting us to play
in his chaos.
the sidewalk was dark,
soaked through to a different color by the raindrops
like a new sundress taken out for the warmer weather.
as my feet made the satisfying
wet crunch
down the hill,
i noticed my path was lined,
little crocuses peeking up along each side of the concrete
nodding with the rain,
clapping
welcoming me into spring
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