Splat, splat, splat—
The sky is almost black, the wind is howling, and that is the sound of the rain drops hitting my window panes like raindrops morphed into water-born missiles.
Splat, splat, splat—
And as I gaze out on the almost blank glass immersed in an angry sheet of water, a ghostly vision emerges from my deepest memories.
Splat, splat, splat—
A radiant bride dressed in a white lace wedding gown comes down the stairway to meet her father waiting to escort her to her betrothed. That day it rained too.
Splat, splat, splat—
The vision fades into an aspen grove golden in the September sun. There’s a rushing mountain creek, there is a gathering of family and friends. The ashes are silently scattered. That bride has found her way home.
Splat, splat, splat—
Another vision momentarily fades into view. The raindrops scream as they pound the windows’ glass. There is a bed now with only one grieving man restlessly tossing and turning. Aloneness is the only bed partner.
Splat, splat, splat—
The torrential tide begins to recede and in the faint new light a wonderful phantom moves out of the ether, and I can sense the warmth of strong arms embracing me. I am no longer alone; there is a new love next to me in OUR bed.
Splat, splat, splat has transformed into a symphony of raindrops.
© 4 April 2016
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