The rain this morning washed away the dust on my tailgate from the last trip I took down the dirt road to your house. I’d been praying for rain for weeks; I thought it might make me feel clean. Turns out, it didn’t change a thing. It just reminded me that I need new wiper blades, and that you’d once promised to change them for me but never got around to it. There’s no sense of renewal, there’s no washing away the memories. It’s just rain, after all. Not magic.