September Rain

It comes suddenly and washes almost everything. Then it stops, alone.

I stood under the back porch of Medical Center North and watched.

People were mostly leaving. Some were going in.

Ty is one of the most refined and gentle people I know. His young wife just contracted bad diabetes. We were all shocked. He, on the other hand, was still calm and distinguished. His face was still a song for peace.

"Are you waiting for a ride?" No, I said smiling.

"For the rain to stop?" Not even.

What then. Nothing. I'm just here, like that oak tree, feeding off little droplets of water sprinkling my tired face.

I didn't want it to stop raining. I wanted to help it rain even more.

A fifty some year old guy in an immaculate black suit stormed out of the door and stepped under the downpour onto the alley that leads to the parking garage. He held an umbrella in his left hand and a brown leather suitcase in his right. His right shoulder and his suitcase were getting soaked. I wonder why no one has thought of an umbrella that's slightly off to the side. One shoulder always gets a beating. And no one ever seems to care.

When September rain stops, it leaves behind an earthy smell that lingers around for an hour and disappears. It also leaves a greyer, yet more peaceful firmament, greener leaves on branches, redder leaves collaged and stenciled on the ground, and louder melodies of raindrops tap-dancing on cars and sidewalks.

It also leaves me behind, not waiting, not watching, not being even, just wanting to be, like a single raindrop that trickles off a brick roof unto a forehead onto a cheek onto a finger onto the ground, then back up, and up, and up, lost, dispersed, one with everything, one with nothing, never again alone.