Dancing in the Rain

It was the dark.
It was dark and rumbling and thundering and stormy and utterly, deliciously, horrible.
The weather made the earth a poison apple, a Granny-Smith green.
She tipped her head back and felt a raindrop.
Plink.
Another.
Plink. Plink.
And then another, another, and one more until there were raindrops plinking and thunking all over her face and rolling down her cheeks so that she could be laughing or crying and maybe she was but she didn't know and if anybody was there to see they wouldn't have known either.
She'd had a horrible day. Her job was horrible. She was so, so far from the ones she loved. And the dull, thudding ache of heartache resonated deep inside of her, giving her an air of weariness that was so, so sad in someone so, so young.
Her face was soaked, warm tears mingling with cooling raindrops.
Then a smile.
Slowly she pulled off her boots and socks-threw them away, who needs shoes, what useless things?-and threw off her hat and tipped her head back and she yelled.
And screamed.
And laughed.
And, because the moment called for it, she began to dance.
But her problems didn't disappear. They didn't hurt less.
She was simply dancing away and living and living and loving and dancing in the rain.
And there was nothing to it.