Rain

Rain © I walk on slick shine streets in the night with my lover. Freshly out of bed and ravenous for other food, he pauses and licks the tears and rain drops from my face. Rain in its many moods quickens to sweep the earth and skies clean. Settles on the skin like a damp kiss. Cold, warm, sweet, clean, sharp, rain. Is designer bottled water merely rain drops from afar? The dog romps through the rain, in his perfect raincoat, oblivious to the wet. Blinking owlishly when a drop should fall into his eye. Mysterious primates of the forest sit forlornly, beneath the umbrella leaf. Forever patient as the skies rupture with a torrential deluge. Human-tender eyes reflect their disgust and sadness at the wet, messy coats they must wear. The equine turn their haunches to the storm to show their scorn for nature’s tantrum. Cats run for cover, sit majestically removing the wet rain from their person with a wet tongue. Wild fowl dance across the circle patterns of the pond’s face, beating their wings and singing. They frolic and dive celebrating the sublime circumstance of being wet. Man spends energy and money to keep himself dry and safe from the rain, darting from doorway to doorway. What does he fear? He won’t melt if he gets soaked, he won’t become ill or grow fins, and he just might get clean. Snow is rain in its wedding attire; no two brides alike. The rain drop falls into a rivulet of other rain drops atop the mountain. The rivulet runs into the creek, the creek into a stream. The stream rushes to the river and the river falls into the sea. The rain drops turn to salty tears as the journey ends. It is said that chickens, if left out in the rain, will lift their heads up to the sky and watch the rain until they drown. Trisha Sugarek Butterflies and Bullets