THE NIGHT RAINS

The dusk having receded like a wave, - the dark was left alone, languid and whole. It was as if a black ink had let loose from a pen and colored in all the sky, the contours of houses and parks, rivers and benches, strip plazas and the rest of the infrastructure. All that shone out was the orange seeming lights from low wattage bulbs in residential places. And a week shine it was, - unable to forge a beam or real large glow against the black and black new and finely wrought robust night. Then drops, large warm drops of rain. They fell haphazardly amongst the earth. Some went atop asphalt and curbing, while others accidentally kissed trees, mulberry bushes, terra cotta parapets and sleepy potted flowers of various varieties. The whole world soon seemed to begin to rain. Out there, - always out there- lightning announced itself. The distance, for seconds, - lit and one thought they could see, discern, know some figure or shape, - a metal tower, a building, even a plane. But it was not to really be, to know, - because then the light, like a house light or an idea, like a butterfly taking off or a memory, - better yet, - like a dream…simply vanished as if into the ether. And the rains then,- with more confidence, more prowess and skill- came into their own- falling, resounding, sounding, even singing some kind of song,- covered the county and all its things both living and dead all the night hours through. 

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