It’s 3 am and rain is falling. The melody of his decent permeates everything around. He pours down hard, with urgency, diving into the earth as if the two of them were epic lovers, reunited after long separation. Long it has been. The desert has not seen her rain all summer, but there was another suitor. The sun has courted her without relief. At first he brought her light, then warmth, at last he gave her heat, still he was not the one she yearned for. Scorned was the sun and scorching was his fury. Deaf to her pleas, he burned her flesh and did not spare her beauty. His final gift to her was death. Critters, birds, frogs scattered across her plains, all dead, bitter reminders of all that is unrequited in this world. When earlier tonight the air grew still and thick, I knew rain had come back for her and readied for the flood. For hours nothing stirred. There was no wind or movement in the night, even the stars had hushed their glow and all the rest laid quiet in parched anticipation. At last rain had arrive. He swept her up into his arms, as if no time had passed between them. He spilled across her body with abandon, covering every inch of her and leaving none exposed. He told her of his love and of his sadness, he begged that she forgive his passing madness. He kissed her face, caressed her skin, nourished her wounds and wiped away the death, then he made promises again he would not keep and swayed her with the sweetness of the breath.