This morning I woke to the harmonic sounds of uniformed tears.
They fell from heaven, with perfect harmony and perfect rhythm.
This morning, raindrops caressed our vacated home.
It is rare to see rain fall on our barren and lifeless earth.
Sometimes, I tell my friends in ‘white suits‘
How I once yearned for rainy days.
How as a child, I once played in green pastures.
And when the rain would stop and the mist would rise.
I would look for salamanders.
There were so many of them.
I would fill my bucket and covered in mud, I would return home.
My mother would boil and she would scold me.
“I’ve told you a hundred times to leave those salamanders alone!”
She would yell and then she would remind me.
That someday I might not have anymore salamanders to put in my bucket.
Only if she was alive today.
She would see that it is forbidden to talk of rainy days.
How nobody plays in the rain and how it is no longer allowed.
I would tell her of my friends in ‘white suits’ and how they sedate me.
Especially when I talk too much of rainy days.
They say I am crazy!
I must be, to talk of such rainy days.