Rainy Nights

Sometimes you can’t ignore it.

Sometimes it is just there.

Rain patters on the windows,

As if to say “let me in

From the darkness outside.”

There is a gentle feeling

About the quiet home inside these windows.

The mother works carefully.

The father relaxing in his chair with his television.

The sister sits at the table.

The clean smell of lemon

Pervades the settling air.

From up the stairs

Comes a soft glow of light.

A girl sits in the chair

She does all her best thinking and wondering in.

Her room is immaculate.

White walls,

Pristinely made beds,

Light coming from every corner.

It smells of rosemary and clary sage.

Except for when it smells like cedarwood,

Or amber, or lemongrass.

A sanctuary of sorts.

The house is unusually quiet this night.

It makes the pattering rain seem louder.

Pattering on the windows,

Pattering on her heart.

There is a tremor in her chest,

As she sits so still –

So still that breathing becomes a disruption.

Her mind is a soft piano,

Played with the gentlest of touch.

It contemplates her imperfection

In the perfect life she’s made for herself.

The chasm of her mind ripples purple

And echoes blue,

As the thoughts swirl around,

Like the bits of cream in her morning coffee.

Her heart is gentle and light and curious.

And sad.

Tonight it is sad.

But with a lonely sweetness that promises this:

That some days are sad and can never be undone.

But there is a tomorrow for second chances,

A romantic thought,

That sends her hands reaching back for her book,

Sitting on the table,

Waiting to be opened again,

When her thoughts returned to possibility,

And her heart restored a subtle peace.

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