It's Raining Outside

  Tap. Tap. Tap. A million taps all at once. The sound of water. The air inside seems distilled, or about to be so. It makes everything else seem weighty. The wood of the sill behind , is cool and clammy, like the rust would rub off if I swiped too hard. Maybe I should, the frame is peeling anyway, maybe if I put my nail right there I could pull back a corner slowly, and unravel the whole wall like tugging the string on a sweater. There are hints of moisture caught in the space of cracks, trapped there for who knows how long. It sims up under the sun and evaporates into a barren of cold. On days like this it would bubble against the glass and swamp sadly in the hopeless view of the nature just outside running with clear streams bushing into the wallowed lakes. Pushing up pollution, grime, and all the fun.
The visibility seems murky, in the close range difficult. With all the pressure I have to focus, strictly. Depth is hard. Impossible. But if I focus on the bench right outside I ca just make it out. The tulip bulbs are harder, but they bob up and down over the breeze. Their little heads peek up for a second just before they get hit and are thrown back down. Lightly tapping the ground where small creeks of water run over limestone walks to bigger streams and rivers bigger still, until they all become the brook where the only thing pushing them there is the twilight. I look back into the bus, I feel surrounded, safe. Wrapped all around in the sound as vibrant as a drum, but cold and foreboding as the cement.
The seat seems smaller then usual, colder at least. Now the rain seems more mechanical. If I look up and out of the window I can see the source. The creature in its frenzied chaos storms down water to try the batter me, but it collides with the window. It cannot come here. Yet it doesn't give up. It strays at the pane, tapping the glass, shaking the frame. It pokes a toe through a hole in the roof, seeping to the floor. It peeks through the cracks on the covering, spraying spit by my seat.
I tie cashmere around my throat. But I'm not afraid. It can't find me here. Rhythmic pounding. Can I decipher individual taps? Like individual voices in the chorus? I think I can zone into an individual drop, but maybe not. Never mind it, the chorus is better. The sounds of water. Today, it's a song.