One day in San Antonio, Texas, in the midst of the 1950's ...... it rained. It kind of snuck up on us ..... first some clouds we didn't notice. Then a little wind, and the sun wasn't hot on us, but we didn't notice it really. A crack of lightning, a roll of thunder .... and then big, fat, noisy drops. Almost sizzling at first on the hot pavement .... but immediately the smell of wet concrete, wet leaves, wet grass filled the air. We ran, at first, to keep from getting all wet, but the smell was so delicious, so fresh, so inviting. And the weeks of oppressive dryness pounding on us, like there would never be rain again was suddenly washed away .... we were drawn to the wet, to the slickness, the overpowering fragrance of water in places usually dry. A small girl, in the middle of the plaza didn't know what to think of all these grown people dancing, swirling, licking at the rain. She was tentative .... sticking out her hand and .... enjoying the plop, plop of the big, wet drops against her skin ..... a marvelous feeling she'd not experience before. So this is what rain dancing is like, she thought. And she liked it.