In thinking about the rain,
and the difference it makes:
The brutal days of downpours;
too thick to see ahead,
very minor chance of escape,
difficult to drawn breath
through the drench,
in a kind of upright drowning.
The enduring days of misting;
some sun too tired to push through,
a fine beading of drops in the air,
casting of a chill to the core,
in a condensation like tears on the skin.
The surprise of a sun shower;
like hope and disappointment
in the same moment,
a questioning of plans,
quickly washed,
in the humid heaviness of an afternoon.
Then a day without rain;
the plain lack of clouds,
no threat of the hot crash of thunder,
all noiseless though the birds sing
in a wearisome sameness.
At times,
certain peculiar times,
rain is far preferable.
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