Still Waters

Rain.

There is nothing quite as desultory as rain.
Not the sort that is thrashed by the wind,
pummeling the pavements and bouncing off
as though it had somewhere better to go;
No, that sort of rain incites different emotions.
Nor do I mean the sudden cloudburst
on an otherwise fine summers day.
The rain I mean is the rain that conjures up both
sadness and despair, but also coziness if you happen to be
gazing out from the dry comfort of a place of refuge.
It is the rain that falls from the sky on a windless day.
Rain that is let loose from a solid cloud cover of gunmetal grey;
the sort of rain that falls all day long, usually on a public holiday.
It may from time to time increase or decrease its flow
but the overall impression is of rain unbroken.
It is days such as these that retell similar days,
perhaps of childhood or early youth.
It might be gazing from a window,
not being able to go out and play;
hoping the rain will stop… it doesn’t;
or running up the hill to school,
plastic macs dripping wet
and soaking both legs and feet;
or taking shelter in the park,
hand in hand with your lover and perhaps grateful
for the solitude; the togetherness and irritated
when others rush in to take shelter
and spoiling your lovers tête-à-tête.
And then there is that swish of wet tyres on tarmac
and umbrellas dripping wet and shaken
and dogs leaping up with muddy paws and soaking coats.
All these things make up the aura of a rainy day
and on balance I think I like a rainy day,
perhaps as much as any other…