the rain

“Da dar!” my two-year-old says from his carseat, dribbling his fingers down his head in imitation of the rain.

It takes me a beat, but only that. We’ve been together all day after all, me deciphering his language, his mind.

“The rain is on the car?” I try.

“Yeah!” he says, relishing whenever he is understood.

“The rain is everywhere,” I tell him. “The rain helps the plants grow. We like the rain; it’s a good thing,” I add for balance, reminded as I am of the significantly higher number of songs, sayings, and opinions whistling the news of rain as bleak and depressing.

“Dib, dib, dib,” he continues happily, being the drops. “Dib, dib, dib, dib.”

And his fingers rain puddles, slick with excitement at his feet as we drive, the wipers brushing aside the shiny wet stars that won’t stop falling.