She loved the rain.
She could hear the rain pitt-pattering against the windows. She was still in bed, buried under old blankets once belonging to a new bride from twenty years ago. She could smell the scent of the musky orchid perfume the bride had worn on her wedding day, still lingering in the sheets.
She pushed the sheets off of her and crawled out of bed. She went to the open windows and welcomed the rain gently kissing her cheeks. The slight, misty breeze swept away a few strands of hair from her forehead.
The woman brushed her teeth and ate some toast with tea. She prayed one whiff of her dead mother’s Japanese Cherry Blossom perfume and laid down on her bed. She felt comfort in the nostalgic scent of the bed sheets and the cherry blossom perfume.
She staggered out of bed, feeling restless. She went to the open windows again and gazed at the trees collecting the rain. The skies were grey, but the air clear. She saw a few black birds in the distance. Two children were walked down the street with a woman. The children, delighted, put their hands out and face toward the sky as in prayer. They let the rain rest on their exposed tongues. The woman with the children laughed and hugged the two children.
She smiled as tears and rain drops ran down her cheeks. She closed the windows.