Rainy Days

Tree limbs bobbing, swaying to and fro

Thunder rumbling in the distance

Sky a pale gray, lightning bugs flashing neon yellow

The wind sounding of an invisible ocean.

A white car creeps by shining its red rear lights.

I raise my window letting in a cool, salty, clean breeze.

The rain falls..tap, tap, tap, dampening the asphalt street.

Rain tatters my porch, pelts a white Durango in need of a bath.

A man just walked through a parking lot with an umbrella raised high over his head…

It’s futile, he’s going to get drenched anyway.

The rain picks up in sheets as the wind blows it North, South, East, West.

We are being baptized even under the cover of a roof.

A Chevy sloshed through a large puddle in the street as seconds tick, tick, tick away.

All former things, thoughts, actions, and words are passed away.

A clean slate!

Though the slate is clean, ghosts of pressing thoughts linger.

Will I always be alone on evenings like this? Listening to the rain fall in isolation?

There’s always this ache wondering when, who, why. One never knows how

truly alone they are until the rain starts to fall.

It commands…demands your attention, inflicting self-reflection, some sort of ill revelation!

Ack! I’m tiring of my thoughts!

Out the window I stare in a haze until a black, yellow eyed, bushy-tailed cat enters my vision.

He elegantly glides and sits next to a tree, positions himself and stares back at me.

Which one of us will look away first?

Drat!

The boom of thunder diverts my attention and sends me scurrying to my room.

Under the sheets I crawl as a cool breeze kisses my face.

Pulling the linen up to my eyes; I hate thunder and lightning, such a scary sound,

shadows animate on the wall.

It’s a puppet show as I slip my toes from under the sheets.

I sigh, my mind wanders to someone I adore; wonders if he’s

thinking about me as much as I do him.

Maybe, maybe not…

It’s time for slumber, no more thinking about fear,

loneliness, or love. It’s time to go to the place where I’m the most

happiest, where anything can happen.

©privatethoughtsmadepublic

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