Day 13

It has never rained on me.
I stand, umbrella in hand,
As the rain comes down
Watching others get wet

But the ground on which I stand
Is dry. Dry, and yet I know
That just over a bit,
Right next door,
The rain falls

I stand, unworried
And hear the weatherman
Call for rain tomorrow
And the next day
And the next month

And then the rain falls
Little drips at first
Drip, drip, dripping
Off of my bright blue umbrella
My feet are dry
As the waters start to rise.
Wool socks and rubber boots
Made for puddle stomping
And laughing in the face of the storm
And then I feel that first splatter,
The first drop that falls past my defenses.
Into my fortress of dryness.

I can see the rain
How it falls, where it falls,
and who it falls upon.
I can see the floods
Inching towards my boots
And look for well-stocked rafts and rainbows.