The Quietening

I heavenly despise the rains. The cliché about the smell of wet soil invoking childhood memories, unleashing the endorphins within a jaded vein, the wet grass blissfully burdened by drops of stationed rain, the sight of an obscure, bedraggled bird fluttering the rain off its greasy feathers, the occasional rain sneaking in through a half open window, the wet drapes that had surreptitiously broken out through the half open window, the soaked fabric on the perfectly contoured skin of a hurrying stranger on the street, a helpless yet oddly merry critter seeking a temporary shelter, a homeless man looking up towards the sky (not really hopeless though), the miraculously dry patch of ground underneath a full grown tree.. I despise all of it.

Oh how utterly blighting it is to have to wade through murky water with your most darling shoes on. You suffer the refusal to comprehend that there are those little and big greens that thrive on it. That there are droughty villages pining for a perfectly dark cloud, without any silver in it. There is a restive child that becomes composed with the prospect of making paper-boats, providing respite to the vexed mother. There is an ocean that wants herself impregnated again. There is a tin roof that wants to make music with the rain drops. There is a girl who wants to hide her tears in the rain while her lover leaves her. There is a world set afire that awaits being doused and there is a wilting flowering plant longing to be quenched. And there is a heart yearning to take the shape of the rain.

Yes, I despise the rains; as I despise myself for the realization of this glorious dependency it suffuses me with.

art - Rain Shape

artiste - Angus McPherson

image url - here