Ginger woke to a sound she hadn't heard in so long that, for a moment, she couldn't remember what it was. Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. She opened her eyes and listened. It was rain. Ginger threw off the sheet and hurried to the window.

The desert was wet. Rain streaked the glass and dripped steadily from the roof. The dusty road had turned dark, and little rivers of water were running along its edges. Puddles filled the low places in the yard where yesterday there had been nothing but cracked dirt.

For weeks, the summer heat had been relentless. Every morning the sun rose into a pale blue sky, and by noon the whole world seemed to shimmer. The afternoons lasted forever. The dirt became powder. The weeds curled against the ground. The metal gate grew too hot to touch, and even the shade beneath the cottonwood offered little relief. Ginger had stopped running barefoot across the yard because the earth burned the bottoms of her feet.

At night, the heat stayed. Ginger would lie on top of her sheets with the window open, hoping for a breeze that rarely came. Sometimes she could hear the dry cottonwood leaves rustling outside, but mostly the summer seemed to hold everything still.

But this morning, everything was different.

She opened the front door, and cool air touched her face.

Ginger stood there for a moment, surprised by it. She had been hot for so long that she had almost forgotten what cool felt like. She breathed deeply and smelled the rain—wet earth, damp cottonwood leaves, dust settling into mud, and the sharp, wonderful smell of the desert after water finally reached it.

The yard she knew so well looked unfamiliar. Water hung from the fence wire in tiny drops. The prickly pear pads were shiny and clean. The sage had turned a deeper green, and the cottonwood leaves trembled whenever another shower of water slipped from the branches. Even the old dirt path through the yard had disappeared beneath patches of mud and shallow puddles.

Ginger stepped onto the porch. Rain drummed against the roof and poured from the eaves in silver streams. She held out one hand and let the water splash into her palm. It was cold. She smiled and stepped off the porch.

At first she walked carefully through the wet dirt, watching the rain strike her arms and darken her shirt. Her hair began sticking to her forehead. She lifted her face and closed her eyes, letting the drops land on her cheeks and eyelids.

Then Ginger stopped being careful.

She walked straight through the biggest puddle she could find.

Splash!

Muddy water flew everywhere.

She looked down at her muddy legs and laughed. Then she did it again.

Soon she was running through the yard, jumping into puddles and letting the rain soak her completely. Her shoes squished. Mud splattered her knees. Water ran down her nose and dripped from the ends of her red hair. She stretched out her arms and turned slowly in a circle, feeling the rain fall onto her face and shoulders.

She didn't care how wet she got. There had been enough dry.

The rain kept falling. It washed the dust from the prickly pear and made the sage darker. Water gathered on the cottonwood leaves until the branches drooped beneath its weight. Birds tucked themselves beneath the thickest branches, occasionally fluttering out into the rain before disappearing again. Somewhere water gurgled through a ditch that had been dusty and empty the day before.

Nothing hurried.

Not even Ginger.

After a while, she returned to the porch and sat on the steps in her wet clothes. She slipped off her muddy shoes and stretched her bare feet into the rain. A little stream of water ran past the bottom step, carrying a cottonwood leaf, a tiny twig, and something that might once have been an ant hill.

Ginger watched them float away.

The desert beyond the porch looked softer somehow. The hard summer light was gone. The sky was gray, the earth was dark, and the mountains in the distance had nearly disappeared behind the curtain of rain. Water continued falling steadily over everything that had been dry for so long.

Ginger leaned back against the porch post and listened.

Rain on the roof. Rain in the trees. Rain dripping from the eaves. Rain splashing into puddles. Rain running along the road.

She didn't wonder when it would stop. She didn't wonder when the sun would come back. She didn't even wonder where the little stream at her feet was going.

For once, Ginger didn't wonder about anything at all.

She just sat there, barefoot and dripping wet, while the rain finally, finally fell.