Rain is Rain

I watched him walking in the rain. His back hunched over, his hair dripping. "Where will he sleep tonight?", I thought. Then I went back to the rain and thought, "It doesn't care." When the rain falls...it falls. It does not pay mind to such things as whether or not one may have shelter from it. It simply falls. I normally would have loved that rain...but, after watching the way it poured down mercilessly on that old man's head, I wondered if I should.

Then, my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of my son's feet sloshing through the puddles on the ground beneath them. I looked down at him. His face was beaming, his arms stretched out wide, his palms open. He welcomed the rain like one would a long lost friend. He danced, he splashed--he reveled in every single drop that touched him.

The rain that gushed down upon the old man's head was the very same rain that fell upon my son's. Resent it or adore it? I was torn. I decided that neither was appropriate. Rain is rain. Life is life.