I prefer the rain

I don't care for the sun and it's shining. 

I prefer days that are cloudy and grey.

I find them beautiful in an odd old way.

the clouds offer me comfort and the promise of rain encourages me. 

they remind me of change and tell me of growth. 

that things become clean after they are dirty. 

the ground is colder, prefect for bare feet... grass stains on my heels that run down to my toes. 

I would and could stand in a field on the rainiest of afternoons and count the countless drops falling to earth... soaking my face. 

maybe I'd spin arms held wide apart

or maybe lay down and let the dirt as it turns to mud cover me. 

I might close my eyes and think of other silly things... all the while becoming apart of the earth... I'm assuming that's the way it works. 

but I'd come back around as the sun returned from behind the clouds. 

I'd force open my eyes to watch them move... a little faster than before

they are twisting and turning into many different shapes... i can remember the days where I'd find a creature or two waiting to be discovered... and laugh at the memory of childhood lions and clowns... and think this would be a prefect dream. 

almost dry I must get up and walk away from all this stillness... all this silliness. 

because I never really belonged to the wild. 

maybe just one more spin? maybe a glance at the impression I left on the grown? 

another shower will wash away the memory of me... that's the way it works here ... outside. 

I don't care for the sun and it's shining but it's purpose I embrace... as long as there is the promise of another grey rainy day.