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A tiny excited drop challenges a race as it runs from its clouded foggy home. The others jump in a hurry to catch up. They fall one after another, forming a dance routine in the damp atmosphere. I look up into their act as they reach for my cool cheeks tented with pink. They land with a graceful splash, gliding over the curves of my skin. I watch the street lamp flicker on and off against the fading sun. After a few glimpses of indecisive light, it finally rests as an audience for the charging rain, while the dark wet pavement below my feet is painted with a glossy finish. The haze around me hides the old peeling barn behind me, but the distant growl of thunder reminds me of its presence. I Wade through the sea of tall green weeds as the stormy wind throws me bits of color to dot my pale skin. I reach the abandon structure with curiosity. My hand is colored red as I place my fingers against the rough door. I cautiously peek into the vacant space, then quickly side inside. I can here dancing rain using the roof as a stage above me. Dry scattered hay crunches beneath my feet as my hands mimic the poles of the ladder I touch. I gently test the first step as I climb towards the small square windows that offer little light. I gather the lonely bits of hay between my fingers, forming a thin narrow bed. I lay with my arms tucked behind my head watching the recital from my dry nest. The floor below me watches my long dark lashes sleep on my cheek bones.

Hours passed in a matter of seconds as reality opened my eyes to an image staring back at me. The rough colorful. canvas was the experience I just traveled.

Learn more about this author, Victoria Mitchell.
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