The Rain

Sometime ago I was doing my weekly chore of putting the garbage out for collection the following morning.  It  seems that all through my life I have owned this chore.  On this particular night it was raining while I walked down the long driveway to the curbside, and it reminded me of how my mom used to call to me when I was a kid growing up in Ireland … “put the rubbish out!”  These lines came to me later.

I love the sound of rain.
It comforts me,
Like an unfiltered cigarette
Or a Sunday morning beer.

I love to stand in the rain.
It is my sanctuary,
Sheltered beneath my raincoat
Hidden from the world.

I love to watch the rain.
It is a portal to my youth,
When from my bedroom window
I would look and wonder.

I love to walk in the rain.
It takes me to places from my past.
It reminds me of where I came from,
All those years ago.

I took a walk tonight.
It rained and I heard my mother call,
“Put the rubbish out.”
And I was home again.

© 2007, Tim (P) Prendeville


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