Yesterday it began to rain in the afternoon when I was driving the boy to art class. I watched the pin sized dots on my windshield and sighed.
"San Diego doesn't seem to rain properly. We prayed and prayed - all we get is this tiny piss from the smallest angel in heaven."
The boy laughed, making noises to imitate the peep squeaks of a tiny angel. "Yeah, and it will stop in five seconds."
This heavy cynicism came from years of disappointment. Rain would start, promisingly enough as the sky would hang low with clouds. But before the grounds could get wet, the hair like drops bearly floating off of the sky would slow, grow thinner before dissipate altogether. The Sun would stick out its predictably happy and stubborn face. San Diegans would take a good humored sigh collectively and head back out to the beach and resume their perceptually sunny life amidst the three year long drought.
But last night they proved us wrong. The smallest angel must have rallied upon our disbelief. Just after dinner the drizzle that had stopped earlier resumed as a heavy downpour. We leaped for joy, chanting for our angel of rain and his friends. The down pour held. All night. We wake this morning to a world less thirsty, flakey and agitated.
I pictured him getting his wings, hearing a bell last night, through the thick of my dreams, and rain.