Every light in the house is out.
I walk into a dark room and sit down to relax.
My eyes are naturally drawn to the only spectacle in sight.
I cannot see the source at all, but its brilliance is dispersed in hundreds of tiny droplets of water that cling to my window screen.
Tomorrow I will tell the world of my experience.
Naysayers will laugh and inform me of my mistake.
Streetlamps aren’t real.
But I saw –
No, the light hits the window above my line of sight.
Proof that streetlamps don’t exist. It follows then, that raindrops must make their own light; it is the only explanation.
For me, it is not enough.
I cannot see the streetlamp, but those raindrops aren’t like the rest – they are extraordinary. The happy, brightened orbs rejoice in the source. I am haunted by their proclamation of the light.
I cannot rationalize away the streetlamp.
For me, it is enough, and I believe.
One day, I trust that I will walk over the hill and behold the streetlamp.
I am persuaded by the light.