From the edges of a quiet and slightly humid night bursts a storm.

Approaching thunder pushes an abrupt breeze minutes before rain slaps the steps.

I'll pay you anything you want to go down and close the truck windows, Jerry had said to me a couple of hours ago. I didn't think rain would come.

Lily reacts to the sudden weather. From her spot on the cool ceramic tiles she stretches and stands. Sniffing, she walks a few feet and curls up in a new spot. Rain wind and thunder rush through the trees outside and the quiet night is no longer asleep. Ripping off its covers the night sits up with a burst and begins to throw water and light against the ground and sky, tossing ragged streaks of light through the darkness.

I hear Lily licking her paw. She doesn't whimper or raise her ears until she hears barking from a movie left on upstairs. Did I hear Jerry go to bed? Did Ozzy sit on the remote?

Rain falls like a faucet, its steady sound creating a camouflage like it's no noise at all.

I look behind me and Lily doesn't seem to hear it anymore either. Her head is flopped back, ears relaxed, and she sleeps.

I think of my friend who came to visit me at the bar. I admire feelings and genuine expression handed over like a gift -- no wrapping no ribbons no distracting bows, just plain and evident enjoyment.