Expecting the rain

She gazed at the plate on her table – filled with round, voluptous white grapes from which crystallike drops of water were hanging in a delicious suspension. She reached and picked one, and the gracefull movement made an almost silent “woosh” sound through the heated, electrically charged, atmosphere. Her hand picking the grape made a perfect white on white image, leaving a lazy shadow on the transparent glass table.

It was too hot in the room, as if the heat gradually rose from the earth`s melting core to her groundfloor appartment. As for her – she was in no hurry – the expectation was sweeter at this point than the reward itself. She took the grape and looked at it for a second – her piercing black eyes, bordered by long curled eye lashes, sealed the faith of the tinny, perfectly ripped fruit between her marble-like long fingers. She took the bite in an absent-minded glance, and turned her attention to the sky that was ever so visible through the big window on her side. Everything was silent, everything was heavy and thick, waiting to burst – and everything was charged with an unbearable, electrical, anticipation.

She started a staring contest with the thickest, darkest, cloud… minutes elapsed and life was still, in a frozen kodak moment. Then, as the pace grew anctiouss along with her heartbeat and breathing rhytm, her gaze pierced through the thick cloud and she twitched nervously, feeling the exact second when the low and high pressure areas swirled in one another, hearing the distinctive, undeniable and heavy sound of thunder. The release was strong, and lightnings teared the skies leaving instant burn-marks that looked like opened wounds of color.

She smiled and jumped from the couch to run outside, but stopped ten centimeters shy from the door. She gave a quick look outside at the deserted street, then opened the door wide and took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the redeeming scent of fresh, cold, summer rain. It was raining with huge, furious drops, and steam was rising from the thirsty ground beneath her feet. She took her shoes off and went in the middle of that lonely, strange, surrealistically wide street, looked up and waited, with her hands above her head, in a sweet surrender, allowing the water allover her body. Her hair was soaked and she was eagerly sucking on a corner of it, bearing the rough caress of a thousand furious drops. Then she started laughing, she springed and ran, then she danced, surrounded by nothing but rain and steam.

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