They curse the rain soaking their hair as if it melted their gods.
I stop and stand in the rain, letting the water come down, meeting my head with force.
Falling water beating earth. Rushing water swirling the stream in the street.
The poetry of rain soaks my sweater. Beading up it dribbles down my face.
I know the rain as the joy of rain on my face in this wet medium of the street.