Part Of The Narrative

 

It’s beautiful outside.

The sun

Peeks over the clouds

Turning them golden

As it starts to set.

 

The trees

Let little flecks of light through.

The leaves look like dappled paint.

I can see myself

In the car mirror

Singing

“A little fall of rain.”

 

One and a half hours later

I walk out the church doors.

My posture is tired.

But my eyes

Are full of light.

A small secret

That I hide.

A small moment

Tucked away forever.

 

As I look around,

Even the parking lot seems stunning.

The dull looking cars

Speak volumes about the people who drive them.

The cracked pavement

Is so detailed.

Many colors overlap the uniform grey blue.

 

I was appreciative before.

But now I am thankful.

My heart sings

I smile as I walk to my car

I grin in the fading light

I think

Of my secret.

 

The precious thing is

Though this secret concerns you

You do not know that I have it.

You may not even remember it.

You were there

But the lovely thing is

It is my secret.

 

The way I tilted my head

As I examined the organ pipes

The way your eyes met mine

More then once

The way I said something

Something silly

Not even worth addressing

And you,

Standing on the edge

Of my bubble of space,

Laughed.

 

You laugh still.

I can hear it

I can see it

It is like rain.

It is like rain on a beautiful day where the sun is shining through the clouds and making them appear golden.

 

It is unexpected.

It is surprising

But not unwelcome

Not to me.

 

The rain falls on my skin

I soak it up

I close my eyes,

Reveling in this moment

I capture it

I save it

I freeze it in time.

 

The rain stops soon.

I turn away

I get a drink

People come in

We are singing now

 

The rain is over

But I am still wet

And where you looked at me

Where you laughed—

Where the rain fell—

There is a rainbow.

A promise.

A little fall of rain

On a beautiful day

Where the sun shines through the clouds

Turning them

Gold.

 

4/23/24