Rain

IS THAT ALL YOU CAN DO? And the rain finally showed its full fury. The motorcycle engine screamed in anger. Rain rippled water was rent asunder by warm rubber looking for tarmac. And for grip. The falling drops were drowned in the howl of the wind. Vaporised silently on the clear plastic of my visor. Steam curling off the radiator slipped unnoticed through the fairing. Water collected slowly in the boots. The world was a happy streaking wet blur.

Now sitting in the balcony looking at a sea of wet kit. Imagining the muck drying off leaving (hopefully horizontal) streaks on the fairing downstairs. The rain is slowly leaving my gloves, pants and jacket. The last drop gleams defiance on my helmet. The boots squelch though my toes aren't in them anymore. The cool breeze isn't laden with a million drops of water anymore but laced thickly with a fresh, wet memory.

The world is still happy. Inside my head, I'm still laughing like the maniac I sometimes become.