And The Rain Stopped
It is raining. The noise disturbs the quiet afternoon awaking me from my shallow sleep. I look outside as I lay still on my bed watching the rain pours slanting on my window. In the many rainy days of life this is the only time that I really paid attention to the cleansing elements of rain washing my senses in a drowsy afternoon.
I delight to the sight of the sparkling waters confined on the tips of the leaves and that magical moment when the gentle breeze shake the lucid liquid beads off the trees. Below are streams of rain water collected into small pools in the concrete pavement that drain to the gutter, to the directions I wouldn’t know. I listen closely to the refreshing sound of waters rushing down the spout near my window as I block my ears from the much louder and annoying noise of the down pours hitting the roofs and the grounds that now release that sweet scent of the earth when it rains.
The chilly feel, the soothing sights, and sounds, and smell of the rain calm my senses.
The heavens wash the pavements and the gutters and flush the arteries of the city from the clotted debris draining them to rivers, and lakes, and oceans and the filthy sins of the city desolves and forgotten in nature’s forgiving heart.
And the rain stopped.
I watch the faint reflection of twilight in my window and let it in. The view gave my soul a certain peace.
I am a better me like a cleared window pane after the rain.