For some strange reason, I always correlate rain to winter time. I’d definitely not expect it to rain in the middle of May–the very edge of summer. Yet, here I am getting wet wearing summer clothes. Oddly though, I wasn’t upset. In fact, I couldn’t help but fashion a smile. There’s an overlap of beauty as you get wet and things become messy. How often does rain come our way? The sun never fails to illuminate us each and every morning, but when does the rain visit us? It pours consistently, never forgetting to play the melody of its song. Its tune rushes throughout me into every corner of my being and it is in that moment–the very instance it touches me–I become rain.