Boo

Les gens qui ne rient jamais ne sont pas des gens sérieux

Be who you are and say what you mean, those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind

Thursday, April 27, 2006

Well, it IS April...


I moved along the bus, making way for the swarm crowding on. I didn't want to move too far from the door as I was getting off the next stop, but clung to the rail, letting others push past. The sun had been shining all day and people were in shirtsleeves and jumpers. Gone were the puffy winter coats, the woolly hats and matching scarves. Hands were bare and eyes shaded. Everyone was warm and grateful for the breeze coming from the bus' open windows.

As water drops marked the window by my elbow, I was amazed by the power of the bus' windscreen wipers. Then I realised the driver wasn't cleaning the windscreen. Rain. The first few drops looked harmless enough, a couple of light splashes, the sun still shining strongly behind. As the bus slowed to my stop and I followed an old man shuffling his way off the bus however, it audibly increased in strength and volume.

I strode across the road, holding my cardigan up over my head and cursing myself for getting the bus that required what was supposed to be a pleasant walk through a sunny park to our flat.

The drops got fatter and more frequent, soaking right through my cardigan and through my hair to my scalp. I watched the damp dots join on my jeans, and held my bright newly-purchased daffodils so that they wouldn't get too battered. A group of kids rushed past, calling to each other and laughing under their hoods. I trotted down the steps and past the trees dotted all over with lime green buds. A couple of ducks quacked appreciatively and I thought how the rain would add to the colour appearing everywhere, pushing up through the earth and sprouting from the reawakened trees. It was wet, but warm. Uncomfortable but comforting.

As I turned into our road, the arm from my cardigan swung out and wrapped itself around a lamp-post. As I tugged it free, a little giggle escaped. I could just imagine what I looked like. My hair was plastered to my face, I was attached to a lamp-post and my jeans were now so wet they were tugging at my waistband.

I searched through my bag for my keys, sheltering under the porch and trying not to drop my cheerful flowers. Safely back inside the flat I peeled off my soaked trousers and glanced out the window. The rain had stopped, as suddenly as it had begun. The sun continued to shine brightly and I put the daffs in a vase.

Beats the hell out of snow.

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2 Comments:

Blogger Warsaw Crow said...

I feel so utterly languorous after reading such a sensuous post.

Thanks!

9:25 am  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

A nice spring fling.

5:46 pm  

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