rain has this tendency of shepherding wandering people into streetside awnings, or teasing them to stay inside the relative safety of their homes. it frustrates cityscape stories, prevents the capture of streetside words, cancels the nightly communion with urban spirits that haunt certain corners of this city...
to some, rain washes away the dirt, the grime, and the memory accumuated during the day, revealing a clean surface ready for yet another round of abuse. it's all this city ever does best. no one sees what happens after all the washing and wearing. nobody talks about where everything goes. no one knows and no one wants to find out.
in other parts, rain brings terror to the hears of many. those who have seeen its fury fear what its unrelenting torrents will take next. whose dreams will be washed away by the watery rampage? whose memories will be buried in muddy graves?
wreaths of grieving flowers floating on a brown sea. makeshift crosses and stone markers stand on the bottom of collapsed hillsides. collective loss is remembered, lifestories are retold.
heavy rain is pounding on my windows. i'm going outside to catch myself some words.