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She had been shopping with her Mom in Wal-Mart. She must have been 6 years old, this beautiful brown haired, 1)freckle-faced image of innocence. It was pouring outside. The kind of rain that 2)gushes over the top of rain gutters, so much in a hurry to hit the Earth it has no time to flow down the spout. We all stood there under the 3)awning and just inside the door of the Wal-Mart. We waited, some patiently, others 4)irritated because nature messed up their hurried day. I am always 5)mesmerized by rainfall. I get lost in the sound and sight of the heavens washing away the dirt and dust of the world. Memories of running, splashing so carefree as a child come pouring in as a welcome 6)reprieve from the worries of my day. Her voice was so sweet as it broke the 7)hypnotic 8)trance we were all caught in. "Mom, let's run through the rain," she said. "What?" Mom asked. "Let's run through the rain!" She repeated. "No, honey. We'll wait until it slows down a bit," Mom replied. This young child waited about another minute and repeated: "Mom, let's run through the rain." "We'll get soaked if we do," Mom said. "No, we won't, Mom. That's not what you said this morning," the young girl said as she tugged at her Mom's arm." This morning? When did I say we could run through the rain and not get wet?" | 
