Pitter patter. Droplets spring freely along the earth and bed of autumn crusted leaves, gentle footsteps as light as fingertips on porcelain skin gracing the ground lovingly with their dance of beauty.   Soft splashes of water glaze his face, deep eyes fully trained on the greying sky above, the quiet rumble of dying clouds fading into the bass of the symphony, lost in the sea of the sweet harmonious melody. His back is flush against the moist grass, clothes tainted past care as his rich mocha hair fans the shadow of a halo around him. People pass, umbrellas and hooded coats soaked and glistening, glancing concerning looks at the insane boy who is going to get sick staying out in this weather.   Maybe he is mad. He's well aware of how cold it all is. Yet he lays there and waits.   He loved the rain.    The melody unheard but still breathtakingly beautiful to the boy, sparkling tingles sent down his wrist when he held his hand out to the ocean, ready to be lead in slowly then dragged in blindly, the waves cascading him with vague laughter and vibrations of wooden keys.    A loving caress and he can hear it, eyes as bright as the first star showing him the coolness of the aqua, a smile as pure as winter's untrodden snow opening his ears to the roll of retreating fog, a kiss as sweet as organic honey exposing his vulnerable wonder to the passion of nature.    He was rain, the silence of the elements' best work of natural art trickling drop by drop into his dry world, ending the seemingly eternal drought before suddenly ravishing his naïve soul with the bitter salts of time. The others were wiser, tugging their hoods up at his chilling hands then shutting him out with a swift slam of a door, none stopping to admire the bloom and grace of his performance. It entranced the boy though, oh how he