Musings On A Rainy Day

It is raining out there. A grey afternoon- not necessarily a gloomy one.

An afternoon to luxuriate in the memory of the five senses, punctuated of course, by the soggy, muddy ones as well.

The smell of hot chocolate muffins,
The cold iron railing of the balcony, pressing against my arms,

Feet hurrying down the waterlogged road,
when sploosh goes a black tyre,
spraying brown mud on a sunshiny yellow dress.

Sounds of wet boots squelching
on a fragrant, newly wiped white tiled floor.

The first shiver as cold fabric touches warm skin,
and then, the comfort of wearing that old, almost worn out cotton tee
bought way back when it was two sizes too big.
Wrinkled and sagging and warm
like the touch of a much adored grandmother’s hands.

A game of Scrabble,
sipping tea from mismatched cups
while one hand wanders
towards the third bowl of potato chips.
The bathroom scales can wait!

The dank smell of that old closet
Left unaired.

A patch of green overrun with weeds
There’s a lot of work to be done
When the rain stops

But till then…

Raindrops drip-drop
from leaf to leaf
of the sapling bought last week –

poised momentarily
on the mouth
of a bud that is to blossom
on the day after tomorrow,

disappearing finally into the dark soil

All so young,
Rough and sturdy
Full of life
now visible,
now ,the rushing current
within.

Urgent

A joyous sparring
of the old
And the new.

Some to be scrubbed clean
Some to never be
Some, to make way
for the next moment,

Some
To refresh
The garden within me.