1 Ah, the rain.
2 I have a sunroom which should be re-named a rain room. When the sky finally opens up in the night, the rain taps and rhymes and runs down the windows with winter lights reflecting in each drop.
3 Why is there so much poetry in rain?
4 It circles around the drainpipe and then runs delicately along the outside of the house with immediate precision, and little reason.
5 Fear not; I won't even begin to try to describe what it describes on its own.
6 I need to cover my toes, not because they all are cold, but because the cold has located my third toe in on each foot.
7 The rain refuses to let me tell its story.
8 So I'll just allow it to tell its own tales to the drizzling night.
9 It's sadness is downright silly.
10 We've all been there.
11 Let it pour. It needs it.
12 We need it. Rain. At long last.
13 I had lost my umbrella, which I found the instant I bought a new one.
14 So it goes.
15 The new one is a spy one though.
16 I think its handle hides a camera and a mic.
17 So when it rains I could gather information.
18 It sits in the entrance to my house, open on the floor. It hasn't moved.
19 I think it's just a normal umbrella.
20 Somehow it works sitting over there in its simplicity. I'll let it be.
21 And the rain, which a moment ago played a furious symphony, just as suddenly stopped, a peaceful repose, and noticeable only a moment or two after its cessation.
22 Everything has stopped except for the drops traveling down the windows at various speeds.
23 It's quiet and still once more, like after a good cry.
24 Cleansing.
25 We needed it. The rain.
26 Still do.
27 The Soul selects her own Society.
---Emily Dickinson
28 Peace.
~H~
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1 Ah, the rain.
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