Rain fell before sunrise to mirror a cold sky.

In African mythology the goddess of rain, the rainbow, and the harvest searched for a husband.

I imagined a carefree being with the power of life and death tangled in her imagination as she peeked behind mountains and beneath oceans. I saw dark, flowing hair slide against her arm as she reached to tip back a plateau of dormant winter fields waiting for spring. She found just shadows and a cool pocket of hard earth with nothing to offer. Seasons earlier a handsome farmer had walked the fields and stared at his stretching shadow scarring the ground. Like many of us, his dreams and hopes would reach out and die many times. When the goddess finally touched the earth where he had stood, he was gone.

I imagine her as invisible outside of imagination, and unaware that no husband hides waiting.

Across a dark bar J. asks, will you ever get married Kendra?

I don't think so.

Why?

Don't know. I just don't ever picture it or think about it.

Doesn't Jerry want to marry you?

I don't think so.

Jerry took his heart out once and put it on a satin pillow, then walked down the isle with a woman whose inner beauty faded more quickly than cut flowers.