 |
|||||||||||||
 |
|
 |
|||||||||||
 |
 |
||||||||||||
people say a lot about rain. people say a lot. how the springkling drops that echo off eavestroughs means rainboots. means carrying an umbrella everywhere you go, so you don't get wet. but the plants like it. it's a cool drink of water for them. perfect weather for ducks. we like to say that. we like to say things. we like to hope that the sun will come out tomorrow. that the old man bumped his had and couldn't get up in the morning. because of rain. because rain makes the world just a little darker, little grayer than usual. we feel the dampness in our socks from our cheap shoes, from our cheap paying job, and if it weren't for the rain, no one would notice. not even you. rain makes us crawl inside as if we were, no. we are, threatened by its magnificent, omnipresent and mighty force. that rain can make the clouds spit electricity that we call lightning. because naming things makes us less afraid. that rain makes the clouds clap and boom thunder, and puts litle children underneath beds in fright. that the rain can make a mighty wave and crash us into a river, a tsunami, a puddle. because we foget, in the midst of our windshield wipers beating faster than our hearts that, eventually, the sound has gone. the asphalt doesn't dance in ripples and sometimes a rainbow comes. maybe like the one with the leprachaun and the pot of gold. maybe not. for me, it painted my windows with colourful drops and fog that would condense and drip down like a fallen tear, down the softest cheek. it made the world a little quieter. reminded me that we all are helpless, sometimes. through clouded lenses and clumepd eyelashes we can still see a little and when its all over the world smells a little cleaner. the grass a bit greener. a new coat of paint. a bath. you sing rain to go away and all you see are impremeable jackets and traffic. and yet the garden grows.T Post a comment in response: |
| © 2002-2008. Blurty Journal. All rights reserved. |