Rainy Day

It’s a rainy day. The skies are grey streaked with silver and coal. The air is brisk, the wind snappish and scented with ozone. Raindrops flick through the air like afterthoughts or warnings. Cars make watery hisses down the road, with the occasional splash. Wipers swish rhythmically. The sidewalk is dotted with umbrellas. In the puddles that foot my driveway I glimpse the other worlds - tree limbs against endless sky, shattered and blurred by the periodic showers. The rain marks time on my tin awning - an arrhythmic rat a tat, in harmony with the hiss of passing cars. It’s a rainy day. People put on rain boots and raincoats. The umbrellas are everywhere. And I stand in the rain as it dots my clothing, turning my hair to frizz, soaking into my hem, revelling in the white noise that fills my ears.