Prose Poem: The Rain Show

The light of the sun slowly fades away as the thick smoky gray clouds hide it away. Then it all starts with a low pitched pitter patter then a louder plip, plop that quickly begins to intensify. Pretty soon the rain starts to pound fiercely against the glass window tap, tap creating a sharp quickening rhythm that’s all its own. The sound of the rain is so strong and over powering that it forces me to listen to its song. I stare out the window watching as the millions of rain drops slide across the glass one chasing right after the other. Puddles begin to form and I can see the rain drops bounce lightly against the water. I start to wonder if it will ever stop raining. In this moment it feels as if the water will keep falling from the sky for all of eternity. Now the wind has joined in, roaring and creating its own music that harshly clashes with that of the rains. Leaves ruffle across the sidewalk, and the tree branches swish violently through the air. It’s like I’m getting my own show right from my window. But it finally comes to an end just like all things, both good and bad. The rain stops, the wind hushes to a soft whistle, leaves settle all across the ground, and the branches start to sway gently to a stop. All those sounds quietly begin to fade away and there’s a feeling of tranquility. The moon glistens behind the now translucent clouds. I look over the dark glazed streets that are illuminated by the light of the golden yellow street lights lined up in perfect order. It’s dark and getting late so I finally let the curtains fall into their place. It’s the end of the show.