The Rain
Before they departed for the funeral it rained, the heavy drops lashing the rocky drive along the edges of the parked cars even as the sun shone eerily in the distance, the rain stopping a few minutes later as quickly as it began, the water that a moment earlier ran down Young Street toward the railroad trestle abruptly rising in curling waves of steam. The heat mingled for some minutes with the smell of the wet earth, the departing storm moving rapidly eastward as the water that had pooled on the ground slowly retreated into the thick clay. But by the time they departed with the old woman to drive to the church the sun shone high within a sapphire and cloudless sky, the sudden cloudburst already a distant memory. And yet she would remember the brief storm even if the viewing of the body and the funeral would be soon forgotten, her seasons planting and harvest, her calendar the sun and the rain.