There was water. Lots of water. That’s all I remember from the night she went missing.

Although transparent, water can conceal the darkest of nights.

The flood had washed away the day before--

The warmth of summer drowned in the deep lakes concealing the streets.

Traces of yesterday’s festivities were gone--

There were no footprints

The fervid fragrance of the orchard had been replaced with the sweet scent of dew.

When I first arose, I did not detect her absence.

It was not until dawn that the natural light verified her vacancy.

When did the weather warp time? Where did the current take her?

As though caught in a riptide—fate had brought us together.

Me, from the West. And her from the East.

We had noted each other’s hair.

Mine long for a man. Hers short for a woman.

As the wind carried the clouds, and the clouds concealed the sun--

her pale skin molt silver to gold

And the day, whose events flowed into the cracks of time, melted away.

Turning

What-if into what-was

Despite Washington’s reputation for precipitation

She lamented: I did not prepare for this.

My reflex: No one is.

She accepted to share the shelter under my umbrella.

Occasionally she’d think out loud:

I find the spring showers to be symbolic,

In the West, each day feels fresh and renewed.

I inquired whether she preferred that.

“To live today as if it were yesterday grants me the opportunity to make things...right.”

I asked if the regularity bothered her.

She admitted that although bland; she appreciated the routine and being able to plan.

"Please understand that it was not until just recently that I learned to plant my roots—to cease being a rolling stone as one might put it."

I confessed I was never much of a traveler

That I carried the window to the world in my pocket.

Shortly thereafter we sought shelter as the sky drained itself into dusk.

It was a long twilight for me as exhaustion drew me in and out of consciousness.

It was a short dawn for her as the release of her past inner turmoil illuminated her eyes.

Between the rain and her personal disclosures, there was never a moment of silence.

“I am always running. I am afraid that ‘it’ will catch me. Whether ‘it’ is time trying to collect my health or ‘it’ is a deep repressed memory trying to freeze me in that moment forever.”

I assured her she was not in danger:

Time takes the body but enriches the soul in exchange.

Memories captivate, but time stops for nobody.

In the morning she had left my embrace.

I never saw her again.

But--

Like two streams forming a river I knew our lives were intertwined

forever.

I will never forget the rain.