My colleague always suggests me to write about rain, and though I have written about it in the past this is something worth revisiting from time to time, tied down to so many emotions. In the moments we hear the rain when we are warm and snugly inside in our houses, or when it cools the weather down almost bringing it to a standstill. The little woodpeckers those raindrops, that peck against my glass windows as they lay down and trickle to the edge . Like the wet leave that gives way for you to walk quietly without a sounds now, like the poem you carry when you stare outside and wish you could get wet in the rain. There is a friend of mine who loved the rain, and though I didn't get to play much I seem to have learned to like it as well. In between the times I find myself staring up when it starts to rain, to the point where I wait for the water to trickle down the branches almost as though hanging clinging on the trees I find it absolutely brilliant that we keep coming back to rain. For tonight I write to those who have found yourself getting caught in just a drizzle, a downpour or a thunder cloud, find shelter my friend, find warmth where it all began.
My Paper Boat Ride
I wandered for a bit sitting on the chair, staring outside my window,
The lights of the distant streets, and the story book endings we find in shadows,
We are fearful of what we can't see, and sometime more of the things we already know,
We are harder to define with all the things we keep to ourselves, and the ones we seem to show.
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I wrote across the window pain, the little kid who sails his sailboat in the rain,
Who tires out with sailing in the wind, but he never gives up in vain
I wondered would I want to so much, to pack up sometimes, and sail away,
Would it be just right, would be like a story I could write, and most of all would it be okay?
I board my paper boat, I ride the puddles with joy, the rain washes my ride down,
I travel even if just for a while, among the pools outside, among the rivers in my town.
My Paper Boat Ride
I wandered for a bit sitting on the chair, staring outside my window,
The lights of the distant streets, and the story book endings we find in shadows,
We are fearful of what we can't see, and sometime more of the things we already know,
We are harder to define with all the things we keep to ourselves, and the ones we seem to show.
I wrote across the window pain, the little kid who sails his sailboat in the rain,
Who tires out with sailing in the wind, but he never gives up in vain
I wondered would I want to so much, to pack up sometimes, and sail away,
Would it be just right, would be like a story I could write, and most of all would it be okay?
I board my paper boat, I ride the puddles with joy, the rain washes my ride down,
I travel even if just for a while, among the pools outside, among the rivers in my town.
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