Rain

September dripped hot winds through the screen door. The floor sticky from the slap, slap, of bare feet on tile parading back and forth to the fridge for ice. The dog hides in shadows, side plastered to the cool sticky tile, tongue limp and touching the floor. I expect him to rise slowly and be startled as his tongue stays behind, glued to the tile, but it doesn't happen. We all move slowly, in sweat stained tee shirts and shorts. No place is comfortable to sit. The dog was right in his choice. Would he growl if I walked over and pushed him from his spot and took his place, my tongue hanging to the tile? Tonight the smell of eminent rain slides through the screen. I'm looking forward to it. Make it a rain so hard the puddles form in minutes, with big drops that plunk down on the street, lawn, cars and beat the tile roof to shards. A rain that more than settles the dust, greens the lawn, one that chokes the manhole as it tries to gulp all it can only to spew it upward and out for the traffic to by-pass. I want a rain that will drench the heart, cool the skin, and irrigate the mind, washing the crust of soot that clogs my thoughts and makes the heat hurt my brain. I want a rain that will clear the soul as it digs grooves across the lawn. A rain with a beat so loud that trains whistle to let it pass. And on the morning after, clear blue skies with a puff of white cloud and a smell of fresh laundered earth, glistening until the sun's heat dry it, and we begin again.