The thing about rain is
the noise,
pattering on the roof
above my head as I type
disturbing the rhythm of my words.
The thing about rain is
the sound,
of tyres on steaming tarmac
outside my door.
The thing about rain is
the smell,
earthy, fungal, rich
reminding me I’m here
in the world, at this moment.
The thing about rain is,
the tactile memory of
streaming
running
surging
coolness on my skin.
I leave my desk and walk
to the forest
behind the house
ankle deep
wet moss between toes
wet hair, wet lips
tongue reaching out to taste,
what?
You’re not here
The thing about rain is,
it falls
My Eccentric Friend 