Sound of Rain

I woke up to the sound of rain. Yesterday’s light drizzle was still coming down steadily in the kind of soaking rain that the ground desperately needed. I wasn’t looking forward to navigating my commute with an umbrella and the inevitable dampness that would come from waiting out in the open, but I wasn’t about to complain about the rain. It happens too rarely. We need it too much. 

The busses of Los Angeles are not weather tight. On rainy days, the rooftop escape hatches leak and a steady, cold drip of water seeps along the flashing on the ceiling to drop on unsuspecting passengers below. The seats where I prefer to sit are typically waterlogged before I even board, which turns the morning commute into an infuriating game of musical chairs, attempting to find a place where water neither drips from the ceiling nor seeps up through the upholstery.

At one station, I boarded the train in the rain. At the next station, I disembarked in the sun. Somewhere in between I felt certain there must be a rainbow, but it was not readily apparent in a quick scan of the skies. It wasn’t until several minutes later, when I was down on street level, that I glanced up at sky’s reflection in the windows of a building across the street. The reflection showed a rainbow, but I couldn’t see it in the sky. I peered between buildings to search the clouds, wondering if I was imagining the reflection, or that it might be some effect of the glass itself, but then I found the fragments of the rainbow in the sky- broken and faded, but still visible.

~ by Gwydhar Gebien on January 9, 2018.

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