First a Drop

I will it to happen. The sky turns pink like it is reluctantly bleeding and the air is so still like the earth is holding her breath. It's so still, still. I am still. Rain, I think. And I feel the Laws of Physics shift, move, and the earth creaks in her orbit and the Universe, accustomed and bored with such fickle requests, refuses to concede. But I insist. Rain, I think. Rain, rain. I ask until my prayer is heard and it rains like a miracle. First a drop, then another. And soon water pours over the city, washes the streets, finds its way into the canals, makes its way into the ocean where it retires, rumbles, ripples because it is happy to come home.