What the Rain Reminded Me Of

It rained for ten minutes this afternoon.

Not enough to cool the city, but enough to change its smell.

I stood near the window and remembered the house where I grew up. During the monsoon, water collected beside the front steps, and my mother always warned me not to walk through it.

I always did.

I remembered my wet slippers, the mud on the floor, and the towel waiting in my mother’s hands while she pretended to be angry.

It is strange how a little rain can return an entire childhood to you.

For a few moments, I was not standing beside this window.

I was home.