The first drop hits the man’s cheek before he notices the sky darkening. Ben lifts his head, ears perked, as if he hears the storm long before it forms. The air shifts. The forest holds its breath. Back home, the man remembered Ben could always predict when the food delivery was about to arrive. He would wait at the door, 15 seconds before the rider turned up.
The rain comes in a hurry, as if they have other things to get to.
The man and the dog break into a slow jog, boots slapping mud, Ben’s tail low as he trots beside him. The storm is not angry, just heavy, the kind that soaks through every layer in minutes. The man scans the trees and spots a rock ledge jutting from a small hillside. It is not much, but it is dry.
The man does a quick look to ensure there are no snakes. They slip beneath it just as the downpour thickens. It is like thousands of buckets are overturned across the ground a few feet away. Ben shakes out the rainwater from his coat and circles once before settling beside the man. The ledge is narrow, but they have enough room to breathe.
For a while, the man listens. He has forgotten how loud rain can be. Forgotten how it drums, how it fills the world with a single steady sound that leaves no space for thought.
Then something rises through the noise. Not a memory at first. More like a feeling. Warm. Familiar.
He remembers Kathleen singing, loud and passionate, full of reverence to God. He hears her voice now. In the church, her voice was always clearly heard.
He closes his eyes and lets the memory form. Her voice was gentle. “Lord, I give you my heart.” Not always perfect. Not polished. But it steadied him. Even now, it steadies him.
He begins to hum. Quiet at first, almost unsure. Ben lifts his head, listening. The tune settles between them, carried by the rhythm of the rain. The man keeps humming, not to drown out the storm but to keep her close in it.
The rain lasts longer than he expects. They wait. Ben rests his head on the man’s leg. The man scratches behind Ben’s ear a few times and leaves it there. No words. Just warmth.
When the sky finally eases and the forest exhales again, the man steps out from under the ledge. The ground smells clean. Rain always leaves things clearer than it found them.
He looks back once at the shelter. Then he and Ben continue down the road, their clothes drying in the slow, stubborn light. The tune still lingers in his chest. “Lord, have our ways in me.”
He keeps walking. Still pressing on.
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