The Storm

I tossed wiffle balls in Angie's direction and she enthusiastically batted them past me, running the "bases" after each home run.  As I collected the spent balls, I glanced up at the sky.  Ominous clouds loomed just to the north of us.  Then my eyes fell on the back fence. 

"Hey," I called, "the fence looks purple, doesn't it?"  Angie and Maddie laughed and agreed; Miguel continued running the skill saw across a piece of old fencing. I lobbed the collected balls towards Angie's waiting bat, but before I finished, the wind kicked up, blowing over the lighter toys in the yard. 

"Uh-oh!" I called.  "Looks like a storm!"  In seconds, we felt light drops stinging our bared arms.  Hastily, I moved to the patio table, where the remnants of our dinner sat undisturbed.
"Come on, we'd better get this cleaned up before the wind blows it away."  I got the dishes inside when the first fat drops of rain started pelting us.  The children, heedless of my request, dashed into the yard, running in laughing circles in the rain before dashing back under the relative safety of the picnic umbrella.  I snatched pots off the table and dashed into the house with them as Miguel made forays into the yard to secure toys and cover his tools, while the children continued to frolic in the rain. 

But as the wind grew stronger and the rain heavier, Maddie decided that the storm was not so much fun after all and hugged Miguel's leg under the umbrella.  I scooped her up in one arm and with the last pot in my other hand, made a mad dash for the house, Angie close on my heels.  Soaked and laughing, we tumbled into the house and watched the storm safely from the windows. 
"Hey, this reminds me,"  I said, and rummaged through the bookshelf.  Pulling our a volume of poetry, I read,
"The storm came up so very quick,
It couldn't have been quicker.
I should have brought my hat along,
I should have brought my slicker.
My hair is wet, my feet are wet,
I couldn't be much wetter.
I fell into a river once,
But this is even better!"

(Spring Rain by Marchette Chute)

The children laughed at the poem, understanding it now as they hadn't before.  And after a single rumble of thunder, the rain subsided, the sun returned and we happily savored our spring rain.  Almost as an afterthought, I remarked, "Well, I guess it's never good when things change colors outside!"