Rainy Day Renderings

Just Some Rainy Day Renderings

**This poem is inspired by the cover photo, which is by Craig Whitehead.

If you would like to check out his other images, here is where you can find them:

https://unsplash.com/@sixstreetunder?utm_source=unsplash&utm_medium=referral&utm_content=creditCopyText

Without further ado, here are some rainy day renderings: 

Wet.

That's what it is, isn't it?

The rain?

Yes.

The Rain is wet.

And so is this umbrella,

A shadow of a thing.

Black and dark,

like unnoticed corners of the street,

Yet just as useful.

Those unnoticed corners?

They can lead you places.

And this umbrella?

I am not wet.

Rain droplets fall,

Sliding down to the edges of the umbrella,

Where they continue their journey to the ground,

Joining the rest of their brethren.

In small pools which reflect back what is above,

Hoping that no one notices what is through them.

The streets are wet.

I am not.

This umbrella is my shield.

Not like I wouldn't mind getting wet.

I wouldn't.

I enjoy the rain.

But like I said,

Umbrellas are useful.

I carry something I'd rather not get wet.

A book of sorts,

Precious words ensealed.

Poetry, that is, if you want me to be specific.

Maybe a few stories, and facts about rain.

But rain must not touch these words.

Or the book in which they are held.

Least the ink run,

And the words bleed out in darkness,

Lost into an oblivion.

For now they are safe though,

Kept beneath the umbrella.

Once I get inside,

You can read them.

Look.

We've already arrived.

I leave the wet umbrella leaning against the wall of a nearby building,

And fold myself into the shadowed corner where the street ends,

calling out,

"I'm back!" as I spin into the scent of freshly baked almond croissants and Rooibos tea.

Sitting at the table, I laugh at your astonished face, before burying my own amongst the layers of warm, buttery pastry.

"Here," I say, pushing the notebook across to you. "I said you could read it, didn't I?"