SometimesI used to sit on the step at that beautiful time when the rain begins, watching it paint the pavements and roads in shiny gloss, a spot at a time, looking for bits that the rain missed. The last dry patch like a jigsaw with a piece missing.
I find myself feeling both secluded and held by the rain. Hearing it splash, pitter-patter on the tree leaves, thudding on the metal roofs of cars, the air cooling, the smell of it filling me.
CrookedMan 46-50 1 Aug 25, 2011