Woman in the rain

There’s nothing necessary going on. Streams of rain slide off rooftops, syncopated rhythm. Pavement sketches, hectic shapes, and people with umbrellas, their staccato steps pointed towards something that doesn’t matter, their minds already fine-tuned to something else. But wait, there she is. There’s a strength in her curves, all verbs and definitive punctuation; she is fluid too, she doesn’t tippy-toe around the puddles, she lets them sop her shoes, splash her legs. Then a girlish pirouette in front of the hardware store. Umbrella, sure, but it’s at her side, bold orange stripes, swinging in tempo. She is all primary colors on a black and white palette, currents of hair on her face, her eyes filled with playful pity for the carefully adorned, splash and splash. The rain colors her lips, a full extension of toes against the flow, fingers curl and riff, a playful fan of water. There’s nothing necessary going on, except her.


8 Replies to “Woman in the rain”

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