raindrops falling on my head
Raindrops falling on my head.
A car passes every minute or so.
Tightly packed houses line the street
in both directions.
The neighbors are on their porch talking,
but I'm trying not to listen.
Going to do some thinking while I'm
sitting here, I decided.
Back to the raindrops I go.
Then to the sky, to the ground, to my skin,
now shiny and wet.
Why don't we like the rain?
It's because we can't control it.
People used to rejoice when it rained,
whether because of the crops,
or because they took it as a sign.
Now it just ruins our day.
I'm thinking hard now, stumbling as
I get ahead of myself and prove I'm wrong.
Can we possibly control every aspect of everything?
Too many variables, and I'm tripping over words,
not the actual mechanics of the situation.
What is the point in this questioning?
Back to the raindrops falling on my head,
and I remember where it all began.
The rain, it actually feels good.
How can it feel good when rain is “bad?”
Is it possible that we've been mistaken for so long?
My mind is wandering off the subject now;
a random element has been introduced into the equation.
A kid, walking back and forth with a closed umbrella,
first on my side of the street, then the other.
It's true, I suppose I wish he hadn't walked by and
derailed my train of thought.
But if he wasn't included in my thoughts,
then my perception would have been less complete.
I start again.
Why do we want to control everything?
So we know what's going to happen.
If we put roofs over our heads and air conditioning
in every room, we know we'll always be dry,
and we'll always be cool.
We liken ourselves to gods now, which we are,
but not quite in the sense that we think.
Looking towards the future, I can see that one day
we will control practically every particle on this planet.
But will we be happier because of it?
Well, we're halfway there now, so that should mean
that at least half of us should be happy, or all of us
should be halfway happy.
I'm not sure I know anyone who's thoroughly happy.
Something doesn't fit here, and I know what it is.
The rain is still falling, and I'm fine with it.
I've worked myself through the rough,
squirming to the left, dodging to the right.
The street is still there, with all the houses
perfectly situated in rows, the neighbors still talking,
the kid still walking, and me getting wetter.
It feels good.
~
1999