Have You Seen the Rain?

Have you seen the rain, you say? Oh yes, it was magnificent, child. It cascaded from the skies like heaven’s champagne. What does champagne tastes like, you say? You are making this more difficult than it is, aren't you? Let’s say lemmonade then, with sparkling water.

It was retro, too. Yes it was. Oldschool umbrellas braided into the streaks of suited people marching down the road single file, if you looked down from a window.

Oh, yes, single file, child. Ain’t nobody got space for nothing else. Roads were narrow back in the day. Or was it too many people?

Real retro. Real old. Real antique, rain was.

It smelled too, when rain came. Yes, child. Rain smelled. It smelled like fresh earth and wet water-proof canvases. It’s not real water, when it comes from the sky. It smelled like it's touched every living leaf in the world, every stone and rock, every grain of soil, and every slimy back of green frogs and brown worms, before gathering titter-tittor in a bucket or something. Don’t ask me what a bucket is, look it up yourself, you walnut.

Some days, some days quite far away from today, I've heard, it was okay for people to just stand in the rain with their arms spread open wide, palms outstrenched, too. Oh, yes, and they let it drizzle away down their bare faces and necks. Half closed their eyes had to be, or else the water would fall right into their eyes, strike them blind. Uh huh, strike them blind with a tap drop of water.

But also their eyes half closed because it’s impossible to recieve rain bare-faced without feeling... feeling... what’s that word, eh? Dreamy was the word, I think.

Oh, yes. Dreamy makes pepole close their eyes half way. Somewhere between life and death, somewhere between awake and asleep, somewhere between day and night.

Dear child, of all the question you can shake open from your box - have you ever seen the rain?

I don’t want to play this game anymore.

It's preposterous.