The rain was whispering that evening, falling sightlessly and as softly as feathers. I looked up, squinting at the sky. It was that surreal shade of electric blue, of light that lingered just before the smothering dark set in. I wondered whether this fluttering of rain was a warning of more chaotic weather to come, the conditions I felt churning inside me at that moment – leaden sheets of rain screaming down from the tumescent heavens, sharp winds whipping soaked hair across my brow like threaded needles; crashing swells, falling trees, flooding streets.
The rain just didn’t seem right, so soft and unassuming like a lover’s sleeping breath. Especially now, as I walked home alone through the dusk.
But what could I do? You can’t stop the rain from falling; even when it’s fierce, even when you don’t want it to. Especially when you don’t want it to. All I could do is make my peace and raise my umbrella against what was to come.
In the meantime, however, I continued along the path to home – feeling wisps of water caress my cheeks, wondering what the rain was trying to whisper to the world below.