Mad Dash

Today, at about 4pm, it rained like a son of a bitch. It was not a gentle misty rain. No. It was a rain where you almost didn't need to bother making a run for your car because you were going to get soaked regardless.

I found myself staring through the window of the office across from where I sit. It was the perfect view. One where you could see every individual rain drop plummeting down. I hate it when it rains in such a direction that you can't even see it raining. But that was not this rain. This rain was visible and it wanted you to know it was there.

So I watched it. I lost myself in it. I stared and stared at it and thought about what it would sound like on a car roof, on a tent, on a tin roof. I stared and stared until I realized that the occupant of the office who's window I was fixated on was looking at me through the frosted glass decor of his wall window.

I turned away, not wanting him to think I was straining to hear what he and his colleague were discussing. And I thought about the rain. How much I like it, how much we need it, how much is too much. And before I could come to any conclusions, it was over.

I would not have to make a mad dash today.