from the midnight sun where the hot springs blow

Rain pours and pounds on people's faces, and the faces scrunch up and try to blow it all away, but finally all those little drops add up, and the faces open up and accept the rain, that refreshes, cleanses, opening all sorts of infinite possibilities, and not asking for anything in return. The faces and the people attached tot hem do all sorts of things they might not of been thinking of doing the hour before: running, singing, splashing, perhaps sharing an umbrella, though I don't much believe in those silly things. And, sure, there are people who don't enjoy rain, times when it really is very unwanted and un-enjoyed, but today I am dwelling on its good aspects, those of which there are many. Have you ever noticed, that as you look out at rain, look through it's many mingling, swaying curtains, the colors of the world sway and mingle too? Until it is the color of rain and rain is the color of it. And it is not ugly, quite on the contrary, it is beautiful, even when the mud mixes in too. You just have to look at it the right way. 

I once sat in a stream, and watched as it swirled around my legs, and wondered, what was the color of water? Because to see it anywhere is to see the colors behind, before, and around it, but what was its own color? It had no name. WE had not invented such a word in our language. And I thought that one day, I might write a book, and I would title it The Color Of Water. Curious, about two seconds ago I googled those words, and found a book already written with such a title. Instead of disappointing me, it comforted me, because I knew that at least one other had taken the time to ask his or herself, what was the color of water? I can only answer that question in a poetic sense, answering that water is the color of a child's love; the color of never before opened eyes; the color of want, need; the color of life. And this I pondered and told my friend, sitting next to me, until the conversation came to rest on stardust, and finally the lyrics of woodstock, by Joni Mitchell, where she says "We are Stardust, We are golden", because we technically are made from stardust. During the Big Bang, stars exploded and imploded, and came about to, in the end, create all the elements, 111 of them, in the world. Though it is thought that at the beginning of the Big Bang, there was only Hydrogen, Helium, and Lithium. The world was made from star debris, as were we and everything else on it and in the universe, which makes us, in a convoluted sense, made from stardust. 

And, coming full circle to my beginning train of thought, makes us kind of sort of made, in a very very basic sense, from the same stuff as rain is made from. And not even in such that basic sense, as our bodies are about 60% water in adult men, 55% water in adult women, so we are a lot like rain. If it were not for the salt, we would essentially be crying rain. And isn't that a thought? I think I would be less embarrassed by some of my tears shed if I imagined them to be rain, doing the same thing as rain does. One of my most favorite things to do is to run through grass right after it has rained or while it still is raining, and afterwards, my feet feel as if brushed with the most expensive moisturizing creams; they are soft and supple. Rain is magical, wild animals know it enough, and so I think we better take a lesson from nature and open our mouths, laughing, when the sky opens up around us.

Title Quote: Led Zeppelin, Immigrant Song