To remember

It is Thursday night. After taraweeh prayers, we have the first few rains in months after drought. We are standing in a pool of yellow light on a side street in town. A little girl, about two, is looking up straight at the sky, the drizzle on her face, smiling, as the woman push and congregate around her, their voices a cacophony of Arabic, English, Somali. She stumbles, bangs into cloaked knees and handbags, someone grabs her hand but she keeps her head tilted up staring up at the sky, enjoying the rain and smiling. 

It is so perfect, so perfect.
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