Coming back to roost

I watched the other pedestrians scramble for shelter as the rain began, a sudden downpour that left the city steamy and smelling of hot asphalt. Passing by the huddles of drenched masses, I walked down the sidewalk, face up turned, letting the shower wash over me.

It wasn’t the sweet, gentle rain I missed from home, warm and fresh, falling on the fields, bathing the crops in huge, delicious drops. This cold, dirty water filtered through the grime of the city, but was still a welcome diversion after the last several dry and dusty days.

At the corner, the rain had pooled in the gutter. Taxis splashing through the deluge threw rooster tail backwash over those unfortunate enough to stand in its wake. Profanities directed at the soaking mixed with the insults flung at me for obviously enjoying the rain.

The artificial wave subsided, and I crossed through the intersection, leaving behind the flood and gibes. Wishing I was walking down my rural lane instead of this busy urban street, I wondered if my decision to move from the country was the right one.

Once at home, shivering in my apartment foyer, a puddle forming around my feet, I shed my sodden clothes. My bare feet left wet prints on the floor as I padded across the floor. Coming down in sheets, the rain formed rivulets of water on my dormers. I stood naked at the window, hidden behind the cloudy glass. Placing my hand on the cold pane, when I lifted it away, it left a clear outline, a portal to the outside world.

At first all I could see was the grey sky and falling rain. Slowly my vision narrowed and I could barely make out the dark shapes lining the edge of the roof on the adjacent building. As big as the cathedral gargoyles, these were not made of stone, but were living creatures.

Stumbling back from the window, moving to the city seemed in vain. The birds had followed me.