There was something about falling rain that took her back. It wasn't just the gentle pelting on rooftops, but a pattern echoing through corridors of memory. Working the café front few listened, stood silent amidst their torrential thoughts.
Ever noticed how stories savor the thinness of drops against glass? Conversations melded with soft splash as if eternity paused over a refreshing sip. Hers was a gentle echo. Find us later, if the storms lessen.
She remembered faint laughter, the whisper of a forgotten book, possibly cursive written valentine, flicking in sunlight shaped liquid. A wisp, perhaps a childhood friend playing by what seemed endless puddles.
Old streets now changed, repainted perhaps, under unfamiliar shades. Fancy wheels above soundtracks clamber over delicate percussion of Tuesday noons.
umbrella songs | echoing thunder | lost time