If only it could happen—a choreographed dance performance from neighborhood to neighborhood during a monsoon. Hopefully you do this anyway at that first hint of rain: step outside, barefoot, on the cooled concrete or caliche. If we could choreograph this occasion with our neighborhood brethren, it would look something like the tip-toe outside at the initial sprinkle, when the air smells like creosote. Then the outstretch of our arms with our heads looking up and our mouths open. Then the downpours, the flashes of light, the thunderous booms and our skin and clothes soak through while dancing to the music in our heads. Maybe next year.
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