Rainy Days

Rainy days are meant for naps,
but even a good nap,
one that envelops you
with dreams and warmth
and the illusion that it is night,
must come to an end,
and then all you are left with is rain.

Sometimes storms and sometimes wind
and sometimes the house shakes
and the windows rattle
and the water begins to leak in under the door.

Puddles become ponds.
Clouds race across the sky,
dark and light, dark and light,
stretched and thinned, then
gathered into more darkness.

Sometimes the sky looks
bruised I often think
and then other times, light
begins to seep through the cracks,
as if reaching its fingers
into the clouds and pulling them back.

A struggle.
But in the end, the light always wins.
The rain grows tired.
A drop here, a drop there.
You venture out and play tag with the rain,
and yes you can run between the drops.