Last night I danced in the cold rain of spring. A rain dance calls the rain, and I suppose there is probably a dry dance that gets rid of it. This was neither. This was a Joy dance. A dance for the pleasure of dancing, for that last pleasure of life when all other pleasures run out.
The rain comes down gently and runs through my eyelashes as it slides down my face. It passes down the grooves in my face that have been cut by tears that ran out a long time ago like a well in midsummer.
The rain fills my dry eyes and my feet churn the dirt into thick mud that squilches between my bare toes. I remember other rains, when the grass was thick and green beneath our feet. Other days when rain fell from a sunlit sky and my rainbow appeared.
But last night was dark. And as I lifted my eyes to the sky, I see storm clouds rolling in s flash of light. My feet stamp, marking the pittering silence with gooey splashes, alone in the night. I remember her. I remember the sound of rain on her skin and the way she smiled and laughed at the clouds. I remember how that laugh gave me wings to soar up and steal the storms forked white tongue.
Then the slapping air burst in a titanic symphonic roaring wave. And I danced...

Strong as steel, Tempered and ready
Iron