We were standing outside, chatting. Tables were covered with food, buffet-style. And then someone felt a drop. And then a few minutes later, someone else felt another.

"Anybody else feeling raindrops?" someone asked.

"Yeah. Think it's going to storm?"

Faces lifted to scan the skies. Thick clouds swirled above us. They looked harmless enough, but were darkening to gray in some places.

"Nah," someone replied.

"Looks like it might to me."

"Even if it does, it won't last long."

We continued to stand around, chatting. A few more people arrived. A few more drops fell. And then a few more. And then a few more. A few people exchanged uncertain glances. Nobody moved.

And then the warning drops, the ones we had so stubbornly ignored, stopped. At least one smug grunt was heard, at least one sigh of relief.

And then the rain came. Hard and fast.

It sent us scrambling, whooping and laughing and cursing, towards the barn. Parents scooped up children, women uselessly tried to cover their hair with their hands. Several people grabbed the ends of the tables and hurried them to safety under the roof of the barn. A few men stood, unmoved, talking in the midst of the rain as if to state their certainty that it would end as soon as it had started.

It didn't. The drops fell harder and faster until they formed sheets. The men who remained out in the rain moseyed slowly toward the barn - a defiant surrender.

Someone had tied the dog to the doorway of the milkhouse. She gazed through the rain at us with a look of longing. She was dry, but lonely. No one was willing to submit to the pelting rain long enough to untie her - not even the ones who were already soaking wet.

We clustered together for a moment at the open side of the barn and watched the rain in silent awe. A few people chuckled softly. A few people shook their heads.

We stood around, chatting. We had to raise our voices in order to hear each other over the sound of the raindrops pounding the metal barn roof.

And then someone felt a drop. And then a few minutes later, someone else felt another.

"Did you feel a drop?" someone asked.

"Yeah, I thought so."

Faces lifted to inspect the ceiling. Thick wooden beams rose in angles above us, reaching to the metal roof. It looked impermeable enough, but the rain was finding ways to trickle through in some places.

"I don't think it could rain any harder than it is right now," someone said.

But it did. The drops came even faster. They splashed onto the saturated ground outside the barn. The gutters overflowed and torrents rushed down the gutterpipes. The pounding against the roof grew louder. And then even louder.

More and more water seeped through the barn roof, drops falling steadily around us. Conversations stopped as everyone moved apart to stand on dry patches of floor. And then, as the downpour grew yet more intense, and a rainy mist blew into the barn, shoulders were shrugged and dry places were abandoned - a collective surrender. Everyone chatted as the rain fell, both inside and out, and we shared knowing smiles as shirts became dotted with raindrops.

Gradually, puddles spread across the concrete floor. A little girl splashed through one, then through it again. As darkness surrounded the barn, candles were lit and carefully placed to avoid the raindrops within.

The rain continued to fall throughout the evening, the pounding on the roof tapering off just to crescendo back again. Conversations grew louder, smothering the rat-a-tat-tat of the rain until it was just a drumbeat in the background, until no one noticed its final fade.

Sensing the silence, I took his hand and lifted my face towards him.

"It's really over this time."

"How are you sure?"

I pulled him toward the edge of the barn. "Listen."

The crickets' song had taken over the rhythm of the rain. We stood together for a moment, soaking in the sound.

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