It broke in pure sunlight like a strange and angry jokester. Thunder first, followed by lightning and a rain of huge warm drops that sounded like stones when they hit the patio. The four of us ran around the house in t-shirts and underwear, joyful banshees. Once, twice, three, I don’t know how many times. But I remember the laughter of my sister and brothers. The way we held our arms up when it was over to keep the wet shirts from feeling cold on our skin in the cooling air that came.
And I remember my parents laughing deeply and freely and together and with us.
