There is one kind of beauty in a morning walk illuminated by the moon..and yet…there is a different kind of beauty walking after a rain…when all the streets are wet.


The streets take on a glow…one you never see at noon…the shadows seem to shimmer in light reflected from the moon.


There is a freshness in the air…a coolness in the breeze…as it carries with it raindrops it has shaken from the trees.


Still enough raindrops remain upon the trees…those unable to take flight…giving the trees a feeling of Christmas…as they sparkle in the night.


Age seems to fade away…as you breathe the misty air into your lungs…as you splash around in puddles…like you did when you were young.


If you listen to the crickets…the owls…the nightingales…you find it difficult to decide…if you are hearing more sounds than usual…or if they’re just amplified.


You stop a moment…look up…and give thanks…grateful you’ve been allowed…to watch the moon, the stars….the planets…playing hide and seek among the clouds.


And you pause as you’re walk is ending…trying to remember everything because you don’t want to forget…

the sights

the sounds

from your morning walk…

when all the streets are wet.

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Remember as a child…when it was raining and you sat by your window pane….

knowing you could’t stop the raindrops…you quietly watched the rain?


As you sat watching raindrops cascading from the sky

without making a sound

you knew eventually the rain would stop and be absorbed into the ground.


And even when the rain stopped falling and the sun was shining

although you knew not where or when

you understood there’d come come a time the rain would fall again.


I wonder if these moments were preparing us

for when a friend’s or lover’s tears fall like rain.

knowing we can’t stop their teardrops we sit beside them

and quietly watch their pain.


As we watch teardrops cascading from their eyes

as down their cheeks they scroll

we know eventually their tears will stop

and be absorbed into their soul.


And even when their tears stop falling and their smile returns

although we know not where or when

we understand those tears absorbed into their soul

will fall from their eyes again.

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We have a decision to make every time we’re caught out in the rain.

Do we concentrate on what we have to lose…or what we have to gain?


Are we sad that we’re getting wet and does that sadness cause us pain

or is there joy to be discovered…in every drop of rain?


We cannot choose when the rain will fall

sometimes we’ll win

sometimes we’ll lose

but how we react to the raindrops in our life…

that is something we can choose.

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I was in the room when Grandpa died although I couldn’t hear

his final words to Grandma…when he whispered in her ear.


I was too far away and her voice too soft and low

for me to hear what she whispered back…before she let him go.


But once the flood of sadness receded into a slow and steady stream

I asked her what they whispered that day…and immediately she beamed.


“Have I ever told you how I met your Grandpa? She asked.

She smiled, “Then let me now explain….

I was walking home from school one day and it began to rain."


Your Grandpa, grabbed my hand and said, ‘Come with me’.

And we waited out the rain under the shelter of a tree.


The first date we ever had was out to eat and a walk along the beach when

in the middle of our walk it began to rain…again.


There was something about the rain for us…something magical and pure

We couldn’t resist it’s beauty, it’s enchantment…it’s allure. 


He asked me to marry him out in a downpour…

at first I thought he was insane..

‘I was waiting for the right moment,’ he said,

‘I was waiting for the rain'.


And then my grandma smiled and I could feel the love her smile contained…

The last words your grandpa whispered…he said…’I will miss the rain’.


And as he took his final breath and I knew his life was through…

I squeezed his hand and whispered back…I will miss it too.”


Now every time we visit Grandma…my family thinks I’m insane

when I look up at the sky and say…

“I hope we get some rain”.

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I walk home

from the bar;

slightly buzzed

but moving ahead of the rain.


I glance at the sky

and notice the moon & stars

beginning to duck

behind the clouds.


The storm is coming

& with luck

I’ll be home

and tucked under the covers

before it hits.






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On our walk the morning as we made the turn 

down a tree filled lane

we were greeted in the silence by a tender…misty rain.


We could feel a slight coolness brush agains our face…

and yet

so delicate were her droplets that we did not get wet.


So light…so mild was that touch of rain 

we barely could perceive her

so gentle even the most fragile flowers 

had to lift their petals to receive her.


I looked up to try and glimpse the mist 

floating against the backdrop of the dawn

but as quickly as she started…that misty rain was gone


And once again I had to smile 

as I thanked the rain for the simplicity of her greeting

reminding me to enjoy both life and beauty…


for both of them are fleeting.

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I love to listen to the rain. I love to feel it, to smell it, to stand in it a while

I am not ashamed to say…I am a pluviophile.


I love to sit on the porch and watch and listen as the raindrops fall

sometimes they can come down loud…other times they make no sound at all.


I love watching the rain advance in the middle of the day

with the thunder announcing its visit and lightning showing the way.


But there is something about a night rain…the one I cannot see

that stirs my imagination and fuels my fantasy.


The night rain comes as a surprise…completely unexpected

It softly tiptoes in, surreptitiously…undetected.


At first I think it is the wind…for the wind and rain share a melody

and in the darkness of the night…neither can I see.


So I step out on the porch and by then it’s very plain

It wasn’t just the wind….as I’m greeted by the rain.


Then off in the distance I hear a sound I hadn’t heard before

as the thunder muted by the night whispers instead of roars.


Then I see the lightning blink…across the sky I see it splash

and I smile thinking even God when he’s taking pictures knows at night to use a flash.


And for a while I am happy to sit and listen to the night sky weep

but eventually I head to bed and let the rain serenade my sleep.


With the hope that in the morning memories of my dreams will still remain 


for are there any better dreams than those inspired by the rain?

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She did not want anyone to see her grief, 

her sorrow 

her sadness

her pain

So she waited for the clouds to form 


and did her crying in the rain.

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Was it the rain upon my roof that woke me at this early morning hour…


or the gentle voice of a lonely flower singing in the shower.

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