A raindrop falls on the chimney stack,
another two on the window-pane.
And then a torrent; and driving along, I’m taken aback
as the sky ‘opens up’, with no refrain.
Like a demented drummer, is the sound of rain on the roof of the car.
Around me, rolling ‘hills’ of bricks and mortar
are pelted with heaven-sent precipitation.
And granite gullies of streams of rain-water,
receive endlessly from the sky, down ‘open mouthed’ drains; a watery damnation.
Mighty mountains of steel and glass are overcome by nature’s blessing.
Passers-by run for cover,
except the dog that wants to ‘mark’ a tree,
except people already soaked, or the ‘odd’ rain-lover,
and those who are still dry, and warm, and comfortable, like me.
Rugged nature, best viewed from the inside is so wonderful.
Red gives way to green,
and green gives way to grey, and more grey, and even more.
Here to stay, it seems. Ubiquitous rain.
And, then it stops. [Oh well!]
Such is rain in the city, that is London.
Afterthought: People appear, as dry as a bone.
Where have all the soaked people gone?