Sometimes the rain holds a part of us we thought we'd lost; a small voice in the background, like hearing someone familiar in a crowd - and turning find there's no one there. The times as children when we didn't mind the rain, feeling drops patter on a mac or round the borrowed umbrella brought out specially for swinging and holding upside down to catch the heavens.
Somewhere there is still this child, face upturned, eyes blinking in the drops and feet placed solidly on sodden, magical ground. There is no hurry through the cold and wet, only the dream-world seen through a silver curtain that coats us as it falls, letting us see enough of what is ahead to wonder at it and hiding the everyday in shining, singing tears.
Amanda
© Amanda J Harrington 2019
My own website for books and tuition
And my books and poetry blog
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