I had no plans to share any poetry or artwork here, but today I changed my mind. I’m going to let this poem speak for itself, and hope it does so.

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“Oh What A Wonderful Day (Wasted)”

Embracing the shower with small outstretched arms,
they crane their necks, catch the droplets on their tongues,
abandon umbrellas (which the grown-ups cling to so firmly),
splash through puddles, squelch through the mud.

Watching at a distance as the raindrops drizzle, monotonous,
down the glass which keeps them safe, dry, and warm,
they grumble about time lost, days wasted, plans they’d had,
sigh and reassure themselves–”it’s good for the garden.”

Cheeks blush crimson from the chill of the wind,
fresh water soaks through a forgotten sweater, a coat,
hair sticks fast to their scalps–dripping and matted,
specks of water riddled across every nose, every eyelid.

Sitting in apartments with mugs of coffee or hot chocolate,
they feel sorry for themselves; drown in regret and self pity;
They dress in jackets too expensive to take out in this weather;
laced with frowns, narrowed eyes, and impatient scowls.

Letting the last of the downpour drip through their fingers,
they turn their eyes skyward, startled at the sight–
a stunning artwork on a magnificant scale; clouds replaced
by vivid colour, a dazzling light shining down.

Peering through curtains draped over the windows,
they see only bleary mist, still lingering near the ground,
soaked-through children (who’ve probably caught a cold)
and puddles of mud they’re sure to step in on the way out.

Their eyes agape with wonder, they gaze in awe;
pulling them away, they glimpse splendour all around–
the snail crawling slowly but surely back to the garden;
the warmth of the sun as it creeps back toward the sky.

Pulling on their coats, they snatch at their keys, rush
through doors, run to their cars; always looking down,
trying to make up for a day lost, time wasted, not realising…

…the rain isn’t the problem.

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