Salathé Shower, by Angus Thuermer, Jr.

It was one of the final pitches of the Salathé. While my partner led out, I enjoyed the airy view from my overhanging perch in a butt bag.

A thunderstorm moved in. Pete fumbled around for a new Forrest invention, the plastic nut, and hung on it for a bit, believing it would somehow insulate him from the lightning crashing around.

It began to rain. The overhanging wall shielded us from the raindrops. Only when the strong El Cap updrafts caught the rain and blew it back up did it come close. In the right moment, when the updrafts and gravity equalized one another, the drops hung out in space, motionless. All of them perfectly round.

I reached out and plucked one.