Midnight Rain

First person, extremely short story.

 

I sit on my windowsill on a summer night, listening to the sound of the rain hitting the leaves of a nearby tree.

It is so soothing... the smell of hot rain on nights like this. You listen to nothing but the sounds inside yourself, merging them with the beauty of everything around you.

I love the rain. It never ends. It's a cycle.

It goes to the ground and is soaked back up again by a new cloud and then starts back over again.

The beginning, like childhood, where it first enters the earth, feeling all it's potential and rushing to go on. The end, realizing that they may have landed in the wrong place and they can start all over again.

Every time, landing somewhere different, always going in the same direction.

This is a contradiction.

Like life, there are many mysteries to it.

You can never say where one particular raindrop will land before it touches ground.

The wind, the weather, the conditions that change it, there is always something that can alter it.

But, then again, what would be great about being a raindrop?

Always doing the same thing time and time again. Never being able to have control of where you go.

The thing that makes us human. The same thing that is us.

You try and try again, never knowing if what you are achieving will turn out or not.

The one good thing, of all of this, is the chance to start over.

 

Reviews

[MarkGMelvin]

zvery well written and an interesting analogy of our lives to rain.
well done

peace
wmmelvin