Degorram Posted December 21, 2010 Report Posted December 21, 2010 Rain Rain is a quiet movement that hides a silver face upon its finger tips; you see it falsely, like the reflection in a mirror, and realize that there was no one really there but yourself. You only notice it’s more than just rain on days like these, when it falls fast or slow. On urgent days when the world is sideways and tiny minnows dart towards the wall that is the earth taking refuge in puddles, rivulets, and lakes. On special days when the rain falls like paper glass; slow and gentle with plenty of time on its way down to catch the light, whatever light that can make it through the snow pillow clouds. When the air is thick enough to support the floating shards, I look away from the rain surprised the world has not stopped, and count, just to be sure, the sixty seconds that pass inside a minute. But today is an urgent day, and the cold makes the rain fall faster. The minnows have fled, and siege towers butt against the wall instead as ranks of liquid soldiers break themselves upon a castle in which nobody lives.
DirtyDishes Posted January 8, 2011 Report Posted January 8, 2011 Evocative. I'm afraid I've been rendered thoughtful and unable to properly articulate myself, but that sums up my feelings pretty well. I don't quite know what you're saying, but in a good way. Thank you for this.
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