For the third time this week.
"Isn't it strange that it's been raining a lot?" my mom asks.
I don't respond.
I watch the rain hit the window,
Drops coalescing and rolling down so effortlessly.
I would go outside and stand away from the trees,
Letting it mess up my already unkempt hair
But it’s salty.
It stings my skin a little.
So I watch as it fills up the bucket I’ve left outside yesterday.
Soon it’s overflowing as the rain comes down stronger
Beating on the grass, weeds, flowers, shrubs
Sweeping away the debris into the sewers.
Water gushes out over the brim of the bucket on all sides
In a way, it’s cathartic. Some hate the rain, but I would rather wait.
"Take your time," I say. We're only separated by a pane of glass.
I look out as high as I can,
Past the tall trees in the distance towards the clouds, sitting in their usual spots.