The rain starts to pitter-patter every house's rooftop. Pit-pat, begins the steady rhythm. Then it begins to grow to something loud. Something frightening.
Most small children run and cry to their mothers for solstice and protection from this terrifying sound, but one screams. Not with terror does she scream, but joyously, running into the pouring, pounding, thunderous rain. The door flies open and she runs to the front yard, wearing shiny black shoes with frilly white socks. Her grin is large and she happily sees the wetness, turning the light paved street dark and the walkway full of puddles. She flies out near the garden into newly mowed grass, turning her white socks green and her black shoes green polka-dotted. She laughes and squeals, soaking her blonde hair and making her bow fall off.
The little girl's mother calls out the front door, "Goodness gracious, Emily! Come back inside before you catch a cold."
And the magic stops. She drops her arms from her sides and looks at her mother instead of the sky. And she returns to her home, and wait to be free to the rain again.