Dancing in the Rain

It's Sunday. We're broke, scraped together a few bucks for gas. We drive around, he says he knows just where to take me. We shoot up north of town and pull into an old military fort.

It's raining, nay, it's pooring, and the park is closed. No one is there but us. We run across wet grass and in between the sharp fort walls, taking cover under this charming little awning. we wonder from room to room, reading all about its history, we both love history, we both love to learn, we chit chat about this and that, cracking jokes in the "punishment room" full of stocks and chains and all sorts of other torturous devices.

The rain comes down harder and harder, and he takes my hand and drags me out into it, and we dance, i'm soaked, he's soaked, no one cares. He kisses me on the cheek, so soft and sweet, he is such a gentleman, and before we both get sick, we run across an open field, it smells beautiful, you know the smell of rain, and dirt, and old gun powder.

I'm a preschool teacher, so he leads me into the old school house. that story is for another photo though.