there are those mornings when listening to the rain is the day’s best plan
washed by a spring rain the street becomes a canvas painted by the lights
there’s something almost magical about walking in the autumn rain
it seems arrogant but sometimes the boldest one shows others the way
maybe it will go find a new home to sit in but probably not
if you can find it buried deep within the rain there is a silence
everything seems just a little bit softer in the blue hours
after the first rain of the season; it still feels cold enough to snow
the clouds linger on bringing another wet day and puddles to jump
the raindrops gather on the new growth, waiting to soak a passerby
uptown jack 