Before awaking in the early morning hours, Ahtyd's dreams had weighed upon him as a heavy blanket ... covering him over with such things that still lay somewhere beyond the horizon ... laughter of the child he should someday father, the scent of his bride's hand gently pressed in his, the restfulness of a seventh day ... things that had ever seemed too wonderful for the reality of life ... distant things ... heavenly things. Now, as the dreams lifted he still lay beneath a weighted blanket ... thick darkness of the night and air that stood ready to rain. And there Ahtyd lay - beneath the weight of unseen things ... silent, still, pondering what the world might mean tomorrow, thankful for the coolness of the hardened earth that spread about him. He dared his strength, lifted the weight, and moved his hand just enough to reset it on the cooler ground. There was joy in this. In stories and dreams, he had heard of another weight ... a weight unbearable and beautiful. Some days, Ahtyd thought he could espy the evidence of its immensity - in the coolness of a passing breeze, in the smell of the earth, and in the dancing sunlight. Every mid-morning the sun would reach down, reflect from the nearby river onto the walls of his family's humble shelter, and dance. And this is what he had always known as 'home'. Yet, these mysterious things hinted at a place towards which the deeper recesses of his heart were ever inclined ... a place beyond the horizon ... a place to which he must return. So, there, in the dark, early morning, Ahtyd again found himself homesick ... longing to be bound beyond dreams, beneath the weight of glory.

And so it was that twilight came. Arising from his mat, Ahtyd walked to the open door and looked out upon the world that was to welcome him for better or for worse. The darkness slowly crept away, revealing a shade of day. The air still stood as if it was ready to rain and the sky was as if someone above had unfurled a garment upon the land. Below, upon the earth, the day-shade shown on his father in the fields, tending the tender crops, and on his mother sitting upon the river bank, lost in morning thoughts, as was her daily custom. Looking back over his shoulder he saw the small figure of his younger sister curled up in the corner of the room. Against their parents' best wishes, she often slept through much of any overcast morning. On such days, Ahtyd had customarily made it his pleasure to fulfill her morning duties. This particular morning, however, he sensed something in the rain that hung about him ... it was the silence before a breath or a whisper ... anticipation, expectancy. It held him captive for long, long moments. His eyes ever so slowly shifted from his sister, to his mother, his father, the river, the wall where sunlight often danced. For such a short moment, his mind flashed back to the dreams in the night. Then it came ... one small raindrop upon the tin roof. It filled the quiet of their small home. With it, came joy. And with it, the air lightened. The weight of the world was lifted. A smile slowly came to his face, as he closed his eyes and welcomed the second drop, the third, the fourth, until the tin roof sang a song of the fallen water. He walked to his sister, crouched beside her, pinched her toes, and asked if she might like to join in the song of the falling rain.

Ahvar had been resting in bliss-filled dreams of her own. In her sleep, she was tiny, the size of nut or a berry, and was seated upon a leaf of the trees that surrounded their home. Perched high above the river, she was filled with wonder as the wind came, asking that the tree might let free the leaf. The tree and the wind lingered there in conversation for some time until at last both were agreed. She and her leaf were ushered from the heights and began swirling earthward. Soon they had been gently cradled by the waters below, and floated on toward lands unknown. Now, having had her toes pinched, she was suddenly back home, lying awake in the corner of this familiar room, blanketed by an air that had already turned quite cool and refreshing. She listened to the song of the waters above and it began to awaken in her something larger than she'd ever known before ... greater even than her dreams. It called to her and she would have thought herself a fool not to answer. If that were not enough - though it was - she also knew that Ahtyd had never before awakened her on such mornings. This truly must be something special. He had taken her from the joy of the dreaming, and she now thought it best to join him in the joy of the rain.

Their mother was just returning from the bank of the river, and their father would continue to labor in the fields until his bones were wet, or until the morning meal was ready to eat. But they took little notice of these things as they rushed from the door of their home. The rain had first come as a soft shower, but had gradually been growing in strength. So, as Ahtyd and Ahvar bound down the riverbank, they stirred up any remaining dry dust, which was quickly drown down by the thickening rain. Moments later, they too, found themselves one with the rain. It awed them with its mere presence and overwhelmed them with all it came to offer. It soaked them ... overtook them. It surrendered itself from unknown heights and there was grace in its falling. And they danced in the giving of such grace. They watched the rivulets appear ... guiding the water from some hidden place among the brush, to the river, and on toward lands that lay beyond the horizon. Then, they sat beneath the trees ... sheltered ... looking out upon the unceasing storm ... drenched in its beauty. And there they remained, brother and sister, resting in the knowledge of something greater than they had ever known before ... something they thought they had maybe glimpsed, once or twice upon a time, in dreams and the dancing sunshine.

The thunder only sounded from a great distance that day and the lightning only shone faint from the furthest reaches of the horizon. The rain fell long and hard. Come sundown, the rain slowly ceased. Ahtyd and Ahvar stepped out from under the tree, that they might bid farewell to the rain that had held them that day. The last waters left them in a mist. The song had ended. Looking westward, they saw the sun peek below the lingering clouds and then retreat behind the distant mountains. There was a tinge of sorrow in its setting. It was time they returned home.

Ahtyd and Ahvar had neglected their every duty for the day, and so it only seemed proper and right when their parents welcomed them with stern words and a scolding. The words were few, however, and the scolding meager - for their parents, too, from somewhere deep within, sensed something monumental about that day. It seemed quite excusable to them that their children should desire such to embrace the rain. For they themselves desired the same ... the heavens had emptied themselves in the storm.

And from that day on, no rain had ever again come to the land.