It wasn’t supposed to rain that day, but still, it did. The rain wasn’t supposed to come cascading down for the first time in ten years. It wasn’t supposed to strike the dusty ground that seemed to shudder in surprise, sending up small billowing puffs of dust from the drops’ force.
The rain wasn’t supposed to leave the heavens and fly down to the earth like tiny arrows shot from the bows of the gods.
But it did anyway, and I was there to see it.
We women were all busy unloading the Hydration trucks, rolling out the big clay drums of water distributed by the City. I was there to feel the first drop of rain on my arm, a sensation I initially thought was caused by a loose drum lid splashing water out of the tank I held in my hands. I set the tank down and watched as another drop appeared on the back of my hand, just near the wrist.
Around me, the women had grown silent, putting down their clay drums almost simultaneously.
Together, we all looked upward.
Krista J. Iris Watson 