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Sometimes

I 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 CrookedMan 46-50 Aug 25, 2011

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