COLOR OF RAIN

COLOR OF RAIN 

I sit here looking out this broken window glass wondering about trivial things to pass the time; like, whatever happened to the public phone when it only cost me a dime, one little dime? What happened to a penny for your thoughts, do they cost more to produce now than then? It was simply a saying that suggested that someone else took an interest in them. Where do whims take us? Imagination seems like such a nice place to go. A place of wonder and enchantment, how could anyone choose to say no? Sweet dreams sound so sugary and pink, I prefer a grittier story-line; a darker mystery to hold my interest and a handsome hero would be so divine. 

 This crack in the window, how was it done? Perhaps a stone or misdirected baseball - except for this little hole in the middle here… won’t appear to be accidental at all. Rain; funny how it drops in so many colors, sometimes rainbows of tears drop from every cloud. But, my favorite color of rain is that lavender hue. It’s a subtle color, not too bright or too loud. When will people begin to notice the changes that have taken place all around? Perhaps we need to make changes of our own before we are put into the ground. 

 Whose idea was it to create destruction, arguing that it provides us with more than it takes? Doesn’t that depend on the person who sits at the desk and the decision that he solely makes? Let’s hope he has many good days filled with laughter; hate to send him to work angry or feeling a bit off. Worse, hope he doesn’t hit the wrong button trying to cover that nagging cough. 


There is a slight aching in my head where I was hit by the bullet shot through the pane. The glass cracked and all I remember is the endlessness of sky and the peaceful color of rain. My ability to communicate is getting harder to do. It’s my mind, it’s foggy and there’s some interference. Today’s rain has a funny smell to it and the taste is bitter too. Lavender rain smells fresh and clean, there’s quite a big difference. I’m going to lay my head down against the window glass and enjoy the wondrous view of life from up here. I can see my past lives marching by on parade; nothing ever gave me reason to fear. I’m sure I’ll die right here on my window seat, looking back on those yesterdays surely missed. This has taken me quite by surprise; I didn’t imagine my time would end like this. Goodbye to neighbors and companions who gave their time and love generously. Whoever shot the bullet, he doesn’t know it found a target and never intended to shoot so carelessly. So take him and wash him and give him absolution, tell him about my life and what it meant to family and friends. Tell him one bad choice - not a bad man make, but to own it and remember how this moment ends. 

 Ask yourself, son, what is the color of rain? Look out into the storm and see what is there; rain drops of every color falling to the earth painting dreams of hope everywhere. Dance in the rain;  don’t you mind the storms. Paint colors of rain upon your skin and dance; rainbows of life renewed if we give each other a chance. 

FROM THE BOOK "STORYTELLER" by M TERESA CLAYTON