rainsong

i find something soothing in the relentless tiptapping of rain on my window. it begs, tenderly and persistently, for me to slide open the pane, to let it in. sometimes in fury it hammers on the glass. sometimes in pain it simply slides down the divide. i love it when the rains summon thunder and my placid state of being is shaken by each bellow. or when lightning threatens to darken the hour, cutting off electricity and arousing shrieks from all corners of the tangible world.

i wish this happened often in california.

today, the rain is like people everywhere who are just fine. how are you? i'm fine, you say. (well stop being fine and be alive!) the rain is just there, it doesn't threaten anything. nothing spectacular, nothing earth-shattering. (don't you want to be spectacular?) as i walk to class with collide, the killers, or the cure in my ears, the rhythmic drops roll off of my hood and smack my sneakers, which march in time with the rain, with the beat. when i return home, my jeans are rolled up to prevent water from creeping eerily up the back of my legs. my fake glasses fog my vision. i slip into a bathrobe and lie down, dry at last.

but the drops continue to zigzag across my window. the rain still knocks quietly for admittance to my heart. i decide to open it ajar.