sonora2sonoma

In my childhood years

The Rain

Robbed me of joy.

***

Kids & rain

Spelled sickness

Or so my mother thought.

On the days

When rain fell, therefore,

I endured house arrest,

Confinement,

Sentenced to watch the Rain

Descend

In great billowing sheets

Outside my window

Without my participation

Or consent.

***

Resistance

If such a thing had been feasible

Would have come to ruin,

Mattered not.

The ultimate authority

Rested with my mother.

I had no voice in the matter;

It had been usurped, or

More accurately

Not ever granted

In the first place.

***

Christmas vacation, 1955—

Stands as an unfortunately

Unforgettable Occasion. For

Two entire weeks

Rain fell

Continuously,

Mercilessly,

Remorselessly,

Making of my break from school

The longest vacation

On record

And the least vacation-like

Imaginable.

***

I stared out the window

Counting droplets fall,

Feeling

Like the wounded protagonist

In a tale rife with

Ironic woe.

***

Back in those days

When the Rain had the power to

Manipulate my mother

Scramble my schedules,

Pre-empt my plans

And modify my mobility,

All the while appearing entirely innocent,

Understated

And unconcerned,

My mother wasn’t the only one

The Rain had the goods on.

***

Back then

The rain was not my friend.

It did what it did.

I had no voice in the matter;

I had given it to the rain.

***

Yet, complain I did.

And try, I did that too,

And finally,

After years of learning

To like the Rain, involving

A long courtship,

A whole lotta’ posturing,

Some trial visits

And becoming certified

By a licensed meteorologist,

Finally, I figured out how

To make peace with,

To take back my voice from,

The Rain.

***

T’is a great privilege

To dance in the rain

To play with abandon

To cease to complain,

Succumb to some verse

With the sweetest refrain . . .

It is joyful to dance in the rain.

***

Tim Konrad

December 22, 2020