Salim sat cross-legged as frankincense flooded the room and the sweet coffee soothed him. He stared out the window lost in thought. His long white robes covered him from shoulder to ankle and his embroidered hat sat elegantly on his dark black hair.

He couldn’t believe his eyes as he stood, moving slowly at first and then more quickly to the door. He rubbed his eyes…it was raining. He moved to his garden and just stood silently, overwhelmed by the occurrence. Everyone celebrated when it rained.

The rare sensation of rain drops on his face was amazing as he turned his face upward. His face felt the raindrops, his cheeks were streaming with water as if he had been crying. As he viewed the rain dropping vertical, it seemed surreal. His garden was greening before his eyes; the palm trees filled with ripe, sumptuous figs acted as umbrellas to block the rain but Salim sought the open space where he could feel the droplets on his skin. It felt invigorating, alive, refreshing to feel the droplets on his face.

He opened his mouth and searched for the vertical drops. He moved his body to align his mouth with another drop, then another, catching them in his mouth like they were nuts being tossed across the dinner table. His pristine white robes became soaked and his skin felt cooled. The rain lasted fifteen minutes….then it was gone. Salim dropped to his knees and prayed….he would not see rain for another four years in his Omanian backyard….

This short story was inspired by a two-week visit to Muscat, Oman. Rain is a rarity and I attempted to imagine what it would be like to experience this rare event.