Rain is a perfect season to
plant seeds.
When the skies flooded the earth,
We stood strong, out of doors,
Where we could watch the birds swoop
For worms.
Our parents seemed to hibernate in a
Different world completely.
If they lived through us, warm, rain drenched
Soggy haired creatures,
It did not show.
We were immune to thunder,
We repelled lightening.
Mom and Daddy would stand
Out on the porch, barely braving
The roof, shouting,
"Come in if the lightening gets too close!"
The neighbors thought they were cop out parents.
We were glad for it.
We took five gallon buckets,
Filled them with gutter water,
And dumped them on our heads.
We smelled our small southern city
Clean as the water washed off
The cars, the industrial grime,
And our own boredom,
All of which accumulated on roofs,
Ran into the drain pipes,
And journeyed to the gutter,
Where we would race sticks
To the bottom of the hill.
After the sticks circled around over the drain,
And the gushing water pulled them down
into the underworld, after that, neither me,
nor my siblings, could guess where our
Rain day stream must go.