It rained. It hailed. It stormed. It flooded.
It none of it mattered.
They laughed. They sang. They danced. They huddled.
They had a chance to reconnect.
In all the ways that mattered, and in some they hadn’t quite dared hope for, yet came true.
Oh, they were cold. And after a time, hungry.
But still the stories flowed. The tears, sometimes. The laughter. Oh, the laughter!
Best of all, the others who would otherwise pass by,
Who would pass judgment,
Because the weather
Protective in its dreary wetness
Let them be.
Let them love.
Made it perfect.
For Rochelle’s Friday Fictioneers
Photo prompt: © Dale Rogerson
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