Touch

I gazed into the studded black horizon, that sparkled and danced as if an unseen hand had in some fervent passion strewn millions of diamonds to scatter across the velvet night. In the near distance the steady crash and break of waves pounded with practiced determination, echoing an ageless rhythm for wondering ears. I stood underneath the glow of a soft street lamp that was almost lost in the embrace of quiet dusk and watched gray smoke swirl higher into the night sky, luxuriously unrolling its way across an ancient palate. There, with the cool evening breeze dancing her fingers lightly across my skin, the soft silence broken only by the muffled roar of distant waves, I saw the edge of rainfall. Small, glittering droplets broke free from the black night to fall upon my lips and face so shyly that I could count each single silver drop as they materialized before me. For a long while I stood there on weathered concrete, sage-green jazz drifting behind me, gazing high into that black horizon and counted the rain.