That Rainy Morning

Turning over, I see the rain falling in heavy drops,

behind the houses that lay in the folds of the hill.

I hear the first drop of rainfall,

on my bright red umbrella,

dripping from the loose curl laces, and

sliding through the open cap,

to rib tip onto me.

The cold rain soaks me to the skin.

Old torn blue Nike sneakers,

squeaks under my weight,

as I feel the cold water soaking into my shoes.

Steamy mist curls off the warm tarmac.

I pull my dripping wet pants up,

to my knees, and roll up soak shirt sleeves.

Event unfolds

one of those dear memories,

during the course of the short walk

as I rush off in a hurry

For the shade.