A Poem About Rain...

After the rain. 

The clouds hung low and heavy for most of the day.

They were gray and ominous.

The humidity was oppressive.

Then the evening came, and so did the rain.

It didn't begin with a sprinkle, but a pour; a torrent.

It's as if the heavens themselves were split open.

I ducked in a doorway to watch the rain.

There was no thunder, no lightening; just rain.

For fifteen minutes it came down like buckets.

And it fell on everything; nothing was spared.

All the buildings and trees were soaked.

So were the creepy things that crawl in the grass.

It washed away all the grime from a hot day.

And it washed away my stress and worries, too.

Then just as suddenly, it stopped.

Just like that the rain was over and the moon was out.

Now there was a slight mist coming from the warm sidewalk.

As I walked I could hear the wetness under my feet,

and I could hear the car tires in the street,

and I could hear the wet trees dripping with wetness.

It made me remember that I was not in control,

but that I was alive.

I felt free.

And this is what I thought about,

after the rain.

Urban Simplicity.