Singin’ in the Rain

From afar, you’d be able to hear the patters of loafers as they ran to their doors, newspapers covering their hair. The mustached flower man grumbles as he packs the remaining daisies to his truck. A little boy runs and picks up a small bluejay that must’ve been blow around by the wind.

The town was a flurry of “oh my’s” and “pardon me’s” and “sweetness, and I woke up sweating.” Old bums yelled and threw fists at cars that zoom through puddles, causing mud to splash across their patched jackets. Old Mrs. Catherine locked the library, took off her pumps, and sat, feet up, by the fireplace, an adventure novel in hand.

But right down Main, a man could be seen. A man dancing, even singing, beating his umbrella against the lamp post for a clank. Nothing seemed to disturb him, not the passers by, not the cranky old men, not the curious look of the drenched cat. And he knelt, chest up, his umbrella forgotton beside him, taking in in full force the torrent of nature.

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This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

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