The Beauty Of The Rain
The sky above the tent was the colour of television, tuned to a dead channel. Framed in the background, a straight river with a thousand million concentrically overlapping waves, rippling together as rain fell out of the gloomy clouds, patternless to infinity. A playground, plastic and wood and steel, jungle gym and swings, slanted house; sitting damply in the invariably existing sandbox. I stood there, lost in the rain, until she tugged at my hand and we started forward. She. Her. The girl....