It has been hot here in the Deep South. The kind of hot that hurts your eyes when you open the front door. When it’s this hot, the briefest afternoon shower is reason enough to stop what you are doing, stand on the walk (which burns your bare feet and steams when the rain drops land) and, in the words of Langston Hughes, “Let the rain kiss you. Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops. Let the rain sing you a lullaby.” Amen.(Image: my front walk)