The rain is a loop of twine intended to catch the rabbit of my mind. The rain is a metronome. A rimshot. The rain falls in sheets and spits sideways catching me under the visor of my cap. The rain is cleansing. I am happy as it soaks into my socks.
The birds are disgruntled. The fish feed with abandon, safe beneath the gentle splashes. The rain is salvation for the farmers in the central valley and we have the nerve to bitch about when it will be sunny again.
Grey clouds skirt the treetops lifted by a gentle breeze. We stay inside, play board games and build puzzles. We prop our heads on fists on elbows and wonder at the majesty of it all.
