MEMORIES OF RAIN

It was perfect moody weather. Orangy rust maple leaves clung to my car while droplets of clear rain danced on the hard surface, flowing in angular trails to find refuge at some lower point. I could see my breath in little puffs of train mist. My nose felt Christmasy, dripping occasionally.

I snuggled into my faded green sleeping bag while adjusting my head so I could see the small black and white TV. The Redskins were behind. The Cowboys were a machine today, marching down the field with much gusto. Ah yes, this old trailer was my cave for today. No one to bother me. I had the park to myself; most of the rangers had left with the change of seasons.
A wonderful day.
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Our front poach was eight to ten feet of concrete, elevated to five feet above the ground. A metal glider with waterproof pillows filled the space beneath the wide windows. Whenever it rained, I would kick the glider into full swing, sweeping out into the raindrops. Reveling to the cool sting of the droplets, I eagerly kicked again and again.
If there was thunder, aaaah......, that.. is another thread.

We would like to read your memories.