The wind chases at your feet as you run for shelter. You can feel the electricity in the air like a spark about to fly. The trees sway and dance as the air blows through the arms and legs of these proud structures.
Lightening splits the sky in half blazing bright as fireworks and swift as fireflies. The thunder claps as if a god or other supernatural form is clapping in amusement at the torrent that approaches the face of the Earth.
Small drops begin to fall heard on the pavement, the roof of the bus stop, and the sharp, brisk sound as the drops hit a tin overhang. Even though the sounds of the busy streets are still heard, it is as if the world stands still at the falling of the first drops. Creation and all that belong to it are frozen in a tiny moment that is missed by all but the most astute watchers.
This is a moment of perfection.
Soon the rain falls in heavy sheets, the wind picks up, and the sheets of rain turn every which way. Umbrellas are turned inside out and people rush for shelter. The thunder continues to clap and the lightening continues to flash. The moment–that small barely perceptible moment–has passed.
But one can still see it, feel it, and sense it if you pay close enough attention. It is in the falling of the rain, the changing colors of the leaves, and the smell of the Earth when the rain has run its course.