"Can you hear it raining?"

He looked up from his broken paperback and settled ink stained eyes on her. The sun outside was poppy gold. "Daniella, it's just the birds."

Her hand littered the window with finger prints. "Are you sure?"

Ruffle of paper, adjustment of spectacles. "What do you want for lunch? Let's eat out, my treat."

She undid the ribbon that held her hair back and slid it through her fingers. The smudged glass looked out on a hot summer afternoon, all checkered blankets and catcalls and sprinklers, brown grass, wind chimes. Cars whizzed along the sweaty road. Telephone wires bent under the weight of song birds.

"It sounds so sad." She said.

"Okay, we'll eat at home."

"Not that."

Tilt of spectacles.

"The rain."

"Daniella..."

She crushed the ribbon between sun ripened fingers. Heat rose off the sidewalks like half seen cobras, dancing to the sound of wind chimes and static car radios and crow calls. Across the street, a child bounced a ball against a red door. Thud. Catch. Thud.

"Know what we need?" He nestled a bookmark in his story. The lazy chair squealed as he stretched. "Lemonade. Sorbet. Wouldn't that be splendid? I'm so hot I feel like I've a fever."

The boy reached for his ball, but too late. It rolled into the busy road and was popped under a tire. Birds scattered at the sudden noise. The telephone line sprang into place. The child stood at the edge of the cement in a pool of chalk flowers and hop scotch fields.

A bird landed on the windowsill.

"The rain is here."

Her husband took the ribbon from her fist, gathered her hair.

She opened the window and the bird hopped inside.

"Hey!" He shooed at the animal. "What'd you do that for Dani? Now he'll get stuck in here!"

The bird tilted its head,sang a tune of water and silver, long nights, green. Daniella held out her finger, brushed the blue wing. The bird ruffled fearfully, exploded into the sky, landed on a telephone wire.

"I'm going to grab some sodas, want one?" He kissed her cheek and disappeared into the kitchen.

She leaned out of her window, propped herself on her elbows. The wires were again heavy with rain. Loud rain, quiet rain, dark rain, bright bejeweled rain. Her husband returned with the drinks, popped a cap, let foam hiss into his dry throat.

"Have you ever wished that children would play outside the way they used to?" She asked.

" Not particularly."

"Why should they, the cars just run it all over. That's the real problem. The street walks are toxic these days. The sun brews it all too strong. It's all too strong, clear cut, there're no mysteries at the tops of the trees so why bother climbing?"

The birds were singing louder and the sun was dotted with cotton balls. The boy threw a rock at a passing car, stamped his foot, screamed.

"And what can we do?" Daniella whispered, "What can we do expect pray for something to come along and give us a reason to dance?"

Her husband felt her forehead, furrowed his own, frowned. "I think I'll go make us some sandwiches. Tomato, cucumber, cool things, cool us down. Why don't you take a rest, darling? You're flushed."

When he was gone, she leaned out the window again. So many birds sang in the trees. The poppy sun cowered under a spontanious summer storm. Dark, rumbling drums. Bright flashes of symbols. Strumming bits of blue peeking from the swirling base. The birds screamed approval.

She leaned, looked over her shoulder, leaned. Then her foot was over the rim and dangling above the dry grass and then she was rolling on the lawn and across the street the child saw her and stared. She jumped to her feet just as the rain began to fall. She waved. The boy waved back. Chalk melted into the street gutters. The rain fell faster.

Daniella picked up a rock, and hurled it.

A car horn blared.

She threw out her arms and spun in a circle.

Across the street, the child laughed, and spun as well.

Inside the kitchen, the husband paused, his knife an inch above a red tomato. For a moment, he could have sworn he'd heard the clatter of water on the roof. He smirked, shook the sound away, pushed his spectacles up his nose.

"Insane," he muttered. “Daniella, did you want mustard on your sandwich?” When there was no reply, he frowned and called louder. “Daniella!”