The Beauty of the Rain

It is mid-afternoon, but the light streaming through the window blinds is dim and grey. It is raining and the familiar smell of rain fills the room as the sound of the heavy drops hitting the roof and the street outside comes through the open window like a thousand tiny drums.

I am curled up on my side, Zane is nestled against my chest, his head just below mine. We are breathing in tandem as he sleeps, his angel face pressed against me, and I read.

I stop and breathe in the smell of him, I feel the weight of his head on my arm, the warmth of his skin against mine. I stop and take notice of the light, the smell of the rain, the staccato drum beats. I stop and say, "Thank you" to Whomever is listening.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you.