by Drew Martin
It rained hard through the night.
If it rains hard in the day, there is a sense of power and exhibitionism.
But rain at night belongs to night things, like thieves and raccoons, grogginess and hidden passions.
It does unseen things and is reckless, like a pack of young, drunk men.
And it mixes with your dreams.
You fall asleep to it, wake up to it, and then fall back asleep to its impact, like millions of tiny meteorites.
When you wake up to the silvery light of the cloudy morning, and everything is green and wet, there is a strange silence despite the lively clicks and chirps of sparrows.