Monday, May 31, 2010

when it rains, it pours

The sky seemed strangely dark as I headed home from work. It made me think of a watercolour palette, a dab of red dropped into the blue, and purple spreading out and out to the edge. As I merged onto the freeway, the rain began, each droplet exploding into countless mini drops as it struck the windshield. I know the rains of spring, We were a one car family for many years and each of those years had spring rain. I've known the icy weight of water wicking up pant legs, osmosis doing its worst, and socks squelching in sodden shoes. My hair has hung, cold and lank against my rain plastered face. Passing cars with drivers warm and snug, have sped by unheeding of the danger pooling at the curbside. Tidal waves have arched from passing tires, tsunamis seen too late. Perhaps an umbrella comes to mind, but I think it's time someone spoke the truth about them. They don't work. There's a reason that pictures of Mary Poppins include an umbrella. Updraft. Cheap umbrellas yield with a pop, and better ones tow the unfortunate along, windblown and wild eyed. Still, I've come to love the many faces of rain. The world seems fresh and still tonight. Maybe I just need a good pair of gumboots, like the frog ones my grandson wears.

1 comment:

Jean said...

This post takes me back to grade 7 and a poem that was in the English textbook. I can't remember the name of the poem or its author, but it was all about how she loved rain. The last lines were
Yes, I love the rain and its every manoever,
I have to love rain -- I live in Vancouver!