Poets. Are crazy.
The rain is falling.
I have work to do and all that plays in my mind is the tap of the rain on my roof – tap, tap, tap. And the cold that sneaks into my body from my legs. Why wear a cardigan and have shorts on with slippers?
I stand to dance. I put on music of worship to accompany the rain. The cooked sound soon ends with the track.
Now, there’s an orchestra outside. Drops to the ground from the roof. Drops playing on the roof. The ground and other rain hits… Those hitting against other objects and the window… They play accompanied by a calm cold that holds…
I hear it all and embrace it with the silence, then smile forgetting everything that is the lot of the sentimental soul.