rain

It’s an unmistakable sound, a cross between sticks clattering together and overly excited feet flapping against concrete, and I rarely get to enjoy it.  Enjoy it I do, though.  For it brings with it memories of warm summer nights huddled beneath the overhang of the open garage, lightning bursting in the distance, rollerblading against my better judgement on slippery sidewalks nestled between groves on my college campus, and the feeling of cold sand between my toes as I played volleyball with the capturer of my heart, she who would be Queen.

I could sit for hours on end and just listen to the rain, and I have done exactly that when offered the chance.  I hear the first smattering and clattering of drops and my heart sours while the best of my memories flood my thoughts.  I close my eyes and see the flashes of blinding light bouncing off the slick desert floor, with the dark looming backdrop of the mountains.  My cheeks flush from the rush of wind and stinging droplets crashing against my face as I defy logic and sanity to zip along the debris ridden walkways.  My lips smile and release a laugh as I dive for a wayward ball, wet clumps of beach sand kicking up and tangling with my hands, my legs, my hair.  Honestly, who plays volleyball in the rain?

Honestly, who doesn’t play volleyball in the rain?  Who doesn’t go rollerblading or running or walking in a tempest?  Who doesn’t sit and watch thunderstorms march slowly across the horizon?  Who doesn’t splash in puddles?  Who doesn’t wake with a smile in the middle of the night as drops start pinging against their windows?  Who doesn’t look at the forecast every week hoping to see that this is the week, this one right here, where we are finally going to get some weather to be excited about?  Who doesn’t love rain?  Who?

Ah, rain.  Sweet, cooling, wonderful restorative mana from the heavens, how I love your song.  You are a symphony of sounds, a chorus of voices, a speaker of tongues.  You play and my heart and soul listen.  In Mr. Brown Can Moo, Dr. Seuss corrals the sounds as “dibble dibble dop, dibble dibble dop dop dop,” and who am I to argue with him.

blazing wind

Warm light advances across the horizon,
The chilled night flees in anticipation,
Hot morning takes the field with a speed surprising,
And the cooling darkness dwindles low on rations.

Burning day wins the fight,
Blazing wind shows its might.

Tiny sparks dance about in their play,
Oblivious to the change and havoc,
And the role they hold in the fray,
As they turn to infernos of panic.

Burning day wins the fight,
Blazing wind shows its might.

The sun scorches all its fingered rays touch,
Unconcerned by the resultant layers of ash,
Burying those who remained in the clutch,
Crisping, frying, devouring, and all in a dash.

Burning day wins the fight,
Blazing wind shows its might.

This is not but prattle,
Frantic words slipped loose,
My mind, too, has lost the battle,
As the heat put my head in a noose.

punctuated

My knuckles crack, and split, and bleed,
And my gaze blurs with sandpaper eyes,
The wind devours everything in its greed,
Punctuated by a raven’s throaty cries.

I feel thin, and stretched, and fragile,
Too little skin shielding me from the heat,
The wind rips and rends and I unravel,
Standing against it is more than a feat.

My head throbs, and aches, and pounds,
A hammer bursting through at my temples,
The wind gusts and the pressure abounds,
The resulting misery is beyond ample.

I long for relief: cool, and dark, and calm,
Someplace I can hide away from my pain for the day,
The wind sucks at the the windows, singing its song,
A disheartening and troubling raucous bray.

Image Credit: psychonaute

My knuckles crack, and split, and bleed,
The red of my life spills across the paper,
The wind tosses it like a tumbling weed,
Punctuated with a thousand cutting sabers.

 

howls and moans

The ghosts danced across the road,
Barely perceived except the occasional shimmering glint,
Caught in my headlights.

They flitted across the corners of my vision,
Only visible when I wasn’t looking for them,
And didn’t want to see them.

They surrounded my car, a swirling mass of shouting voices,
Rocking my frame, lashing against the windshield,
And then vanishing into the darkness.

Their howls and moans rising and falling,
Their swarms attacking in waves,
Their terror never fading.

The ghosts had other motorists to haunt,
As they flew loose and free about the world,
Driven by the wind.

I hate the wind…

rain delay

Rain, rain, here to stay,
Pouring down all live long day.

…..

It’s raining, it’s pouring, Matticus is boring,
The same sad song, the words are gone,
The muse is off and snoring.

What?

Are you not entertained?

What?

You want more than rewritten silliness about rain and stolen movie quotes?

But, it’s Friday and my brain is mush…  Please have mercy on me.

Okay, okay, how about this:

The mighty wizard peered through the stained glass, glowering at the rivulets that cascaded down the colored surface.  He’d had such hopes for the day, but the storm had thwarted all of his plans.  Adverting his gaze to the mug of tea grasped in his hands, enjoying the puff of steam that rose from the liquid and swirled with the currents in his room, he calmed his raging mind.

He could easily cast spells that would disrupt the clouds and send them on their way, but that magic would leave him too weak to carry out the other sorcery he had in mind.  No, he must be patient and wait out the rain and wind.  The storm would pass, and then he would have his day.

Blowing over the top of his mug, sending the steam pouring over the opposite rim to disappear beyond the edge as it was reclaimed by the air, he took a sip and then went to his seat by the fire.  It crackled and popped in greeting and he let time slip with his eyes lost in the dance of the coals.

The storm continued unabated long into the evening, well beyond any time he might have been able to salvage his objective, but he went to sleep that night lulled into dreams by the percussive dibble dops of rain playing on his roof and the sense of overwhelming triumph he would now on the morrow.  The storm had merely delayed the inevitable.  The world would still be his.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

There.  Satisfied?  Can I go enjoy my weather now?

I love the rain.  I like everything about it.  The cleansing feeling of walking through it.  The way it wipes the world clean.  The sustenance it provides the living things of the world.  It is definitely my favorite weather.  And you?  Love it?  Hate it?  What is your favorite type of weather?