It was raining when I walked out of work
to make the three block trek to where my car
was parked so I could snake through the city,
the construction, and catch the highway home.
I slipped my hearing aids in my pocket,
losing the high harmonies of the street’s
sounds; the small but persistent rain drops
hit my shirt and held hands to leave me soaked.
in another year, this would have been snow,
and I would have felt like a kid out of school,
kicking my way across the parking lot,
mouth wide open to catch the falling flakes.
on this night I’m listening to the tap
of the rain on the kitchen window box,
the drone of the dryer doing its job,
as I search the house for the right words
to connect to the couple that might as
well have been homeless who braved the open
road, moving at the mercy of the weather
and the angels, without reservations.
Well said, sir.
“Rain drops held hands”….beautiful!
I loved the “rain drops … held hands”, too, but “without reservations” knocked me out! Wow!
Reminds me of:
“Rain rings trash can bells
And what do you know
My alley becomes a cathedral
Jesus don’t let tomorrow take my love away…”
— Bruce Cockburn