So it might or might not be significant
that I happened to be riding my bike
along the rough stretch of Third Street
also known as Leon Russell Road
and had just passed the old church
where Russell did some recording once
when I saw the rainbow arching
over the street and thought: “Rainbow.
Oh, a rainbow, and a nice one.
But that’s weird because it hasn’t rained.
[Beat.] Oh shit.” And then it rained.
Hard. Big hard drops of blinding rain.
But the day had been miserably hot,
and the big hard drops of blinding rain
were cool, almost cold relatively,
and even though they kind of almost
hurt, it was in a good way, like
being in a needle shower
at a bathhouse in Hot Springs, Arkansas,
a simile which probably won’t make
much sense if you’ve never done that,
but if you have, you’ll know exactly
what I mean. But either way, it doesn’t
matter. All that matters is that the big,
hard drops of blinding rain that
pelted me like a needle shower
were cool and they felt really good,
and there was a rainbow, and the
whole thing might have been
Leon Russell’s fault.
T. Allen Culpepper