On Rainy Afternoons

From nowhere, a type of sadness descends as that which sometimes possesses a child on rainy afternoons when what is vulnerable withdraws and curls up in a corner of the mind to seal itself with silence. It's a sadness that doesn’t wear a name, more like a shadow cast by something way back that memory has forgot or put away concealed behind a veil of sleep. It comes creeping out of the quiet and hangs as a blur beyond the reach of sight, a blank in the headlights of a child’s far away stare, without shape or form, a sadness perhaps left by a scar or the imprint of a longing cast by a previous life, or nothing, nothing more than an ordinary sadness that comes upon us all on rainy afternoons, when we are alone.