The Black Ink Collection
When It Rains
Its a humid summer day. The sky is dark and gloomy. The heavy clouds seem to burst as they release their downpour. I'm in the kitchen staring out the window. I watch tentatively as each drop spirals down until it meets the pavement. You walk into the room and watch me silently. I look up at you and a smile spreads across your face.
"What are you doing?" you ask.
I grin and simply reply, "Thinking."
Then I rise from my seat, pull on a hoodie, and walk out of the front door. From the kitchen table you watch me. I sit down on the steps and look out at the street. The soaked asphalt is empty. The only sound is that of the rain it meets the end of its far plummet.
I remember.
Looking at the grass, I remember our picnic, just last week. You made all that food all by yourself and I was so proud.
Looking at the sky, I remember the kites we used to fly. You were so good at that. Yours always reached higher than mine.
Looking at the sidewalk, I remember our long walks and our deep conversations. No matter how much we cried or we argued, we always kept walking.
Looking at the trees, I remember the old oak we climbed when we were only toddlers. I reached the top before you. You were not very happy about that.
Its summer again. As I breathe in the fresh moist air, I remember all these things. There you are now, sitting down next to me.
"Why don't we go inside," you say concernedly. "I don't want you getting sick."
I stand up and grab your hand. "Come on," I say while yanking you up from your seat. I drag you to the middle of the street and we dance and laugh. What fun we have, getting soaked and muddy.
A new memory for me to remember.
"What are you doing?" you ask.
I grin and simply reply, "Thinking."
Then I rise from my seat, pull on a hoodie, and walk out of the front door. From the kitchen table you watch me. I sit down on the steps and look out at the street. The soaked asphalt is empty. The only sound is that of the rain it meets the end of its far plummet.
I remember.
Looking at the grass, I remember our picnic, just last week. You made all that food all by yourself and I was so proud.
Looking at the sky, I remember the kites we used to fly. You were so good at that. Yours always reached higher than mine.
Looking at the sidewalk, I remember our long walks and our deep conversations. No matter how much we cried or we argued, we always kept walking.
Looking at the trees, I remember the old oak we climbed when we were only toddlers. I reached the top before you. You were not very happy about that.
Its summer again. As I breathe in the fresh moist air, I remember all these things. There you are now, sitting down next to me.
"Why don't we go inside," you say concernedly. "I don't want you getting sick."
I stand up and grab your hand. "Come on," I say while yanking you up from your seat. I drag you to the middle of the street and we dance and laugh. What fun we have, getting soaked and muddy.
A new memory for me to remember.