I stepped out from lightness and spoke into a poring rain. My head dropped back, my mouth agape, I asked why, but water filled my throat--and I felt as if I was dying--before a drowning voice silenced me.
Oh, why, why did you do this to me, I wondered of the falling sky. Why did You sink me before I could wade along the river's edge.
My clothes dripping, I went inside and called a friend and told him of what I had done. He said he had done the same. I knew then the downpour had answered us in all its driving mystery, and that I was saved somehow, but the question still remained: why the flood follows the drought and what reason is there to divine the falling rain?