it stopped raining after some long hour had passed the rain had simply faded like shawled figure moving through the afterlife just the signature of presence evaporating into the still air like the quiet thunder of a doves wings in the evening shadow
a sense of walking the day down through its years a child at dawn full of promise and wonder a man full of strife and the heat of passions at noon an old man gasping by the witching hour see the day walk its life to the tomb before the grand spectacle of night has finished
and the very damp ground was littered with leaves pulled from their high towers and cast down by the winds strong hand dirt in clinging clumps decorate the once vividly clean surface of her lawn chairs she pecks at the debris with a rapid motion wipe away the inglorious world with her chatter is subtle but not unfriendly as she offers tea the long hour passes as we instilled with small conversation watch the overcast slowly dissipates like her charm it is fleeting she at last asks about your day with hands folded in her lap like two neat doves fearfully waiting to fly in panic at such slight provocations
the rain left its signature on my life both beauty and troubled thoughts gather beneath its wet canopy all reach life in the waters of the world all rise from child and fall to tomb like rain falls back to the earth which birthed it we all return to the soil thick and rich loam full of the savaged remains of the fallen and the seeds of the yet unborn