Rain

Singin’ in the Rain Safe inside, toasty warm, while water pitter-patters on the roof… describe your perfect, rainy afternoon.

Outside the morning air is surprisingly cool. Grace stands on the pavement holding the bags of books close to the front door of the  library. The cloud pull their veil over the city.Rain she thinks flexing her neck and squints skyward. She better run to the car.She drives back to her house. As she reaches to open the door, the lightning flashes and a few seconds later thunder crackles and comes the torrential downpour.

As she steps into the living room, a  pair of brown paws appear in front of her. Her dog lucy does not like the rain or the cloudy weather. Rain is her worst enemy. She stands there to one side of the room with a sad face. Her tail hangs down, and the eyes are anxious and droopy. Grace sinks her fingers into her thick fur and pats her head to assure her that everything will be allright. The rain comes down hard and the wind whips sheets of water against the glass windows.Grace walks away forward to the north facing window overlooking the back garden.Her eyes lazily roams her surrounding. The wind is driving the rain against it in furious ways. The sky is dark as the north sea.A few birds perch heavily on one of  the tree. One or two small brown frogs hopping on the grass. The fragile white flower clusters and the lilacs  shake to and fro in the languid air and the heavy rain and then some scatter on the ground. The thin branch of the Cosmos plants are half bend to the ground and it’s pretty, soft orange petals shake violently  in the rain. Lucy stretches out on her belly close to Grace on the floor, her nose pressed against the crack under the door. Her tail beats gently , just a thump or two but with the sound of the heavy rain it stops. Suddenly she leaps forward, leans heavily on Grace and raises her eyes. Her mind screams  Mom  please do something to stop the rain. Grace pats her lovingly.

Grace loves the soft, uninterrupted and the mysterious sound of rain. Her imagination overflows. She wants to create  something marvelous; a picture, a short story or a flash fiction. She feels the warm sap of emotion pumps through her body. She decides to write not a flash fiction but a long story.With a hot cup of ginger tea she settles herself luxuriously upon the couch and opens her laptop.The scent of wet birches and pines flow through the small opening of the back door. Lucy stretches out on the rug beneath her feet tail lying sideways.After two hours on a stretch Grace leans back on the chair, stretches her arm above her head, to the back then looks back at the screen. What! A little whisper escapes her slightly parted lips. She glances at the clock, then looks back to the screen. Really only two paragraphs! I wonder what the other writers do; may be they are more creative and their imagination takes shapes faster than mine. Sure! Well I have to take a break. Grace walks into the kitchen. She opens the door and looks at the sky.The heavy rain has turned into sprinkles. The air feels cool and clean. The smell of pine is heavy. Out of the trail of her eyes she could see the birds rustle their wet wings against the wet shrubs. The raindrops from the leaves fall softly to the ground.There are pretty golden and brown leaves all over the lawn. Grace closes the door and walks back to the living room. As she settles herself on the cream colored sofa a few memories flash in her mind. She smiles deliciously. The romantic songs of Bollywood from 70’s float in her head. Grace starts to hum softly the lines. “Vigee vigee rato mein meethi meethi bato mein aise barsato mein kaisa lagata hei…”She blushes. Grace rises, sits down again and throws herself back with a cheerful smile.The wonderful memories of youth. Lucy raises one eye and stares at Grace. She wags her long tail and stretches out her legs. She is more relaxed now.

The romantic mood lingers.Grace decides to play the piano. Her delicate fingers play the soft interlude, gradually and imperceptibly the interlude melts into the soft opening  minor chords of the Chopin Impromptu. She glides from Chopin into the quivering love notes of Isolde’s song. The music grows strange and fantastic, it fills the whole house. It floats out over the house steps into the silence of the upper air.

The autumn twilight gathers inside the room.

writing          rain

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2 thoughts on “Rain

  1. rogershipp says:

    “Her delicate fingers play the soft interlude, gradually and imperceptibly the interlude melts into the soft opening minor chords of the Chopin Impromptu.”
    The musical evening…. sounds grand.

    Like

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